


home is in your arms

by Ruriska



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Complete, Family Drama, Family Member Death, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Cancer, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reconciliation, Regret, Shame, Shimadacest, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Smut, Wakes & Funerals, Welcome to the pain train, Yell at me if I get anything wrong please, set in Japan, the slow burn ends!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruriska/pseuds/Ruriska
Summary: When Genji returns home after ten years to attend his mother's funeral, it reopens old wounds and reignites repressed feelings.





	1. reunited

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into ไทย available: [home is in your arms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665686) by [mizumii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizumii/pseuds/mizumii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the sad modern au multi-chapter family drama nobody asked for! I wrote that other fic with the whole dead family member thing and then I was like, 'hey I have another idea!' and here it is. Basically there's a lot of feelings and angst and you probably shouldn't bother reading this.
> 
> Not beta'd. Give me some slack.

Genji arrived home to Japan at 2:35AM, after two delays, nearly eight hours at the airport and the worst sandwich Hanzo had ever eaten. His brother emerged from customs in a disgusting pair of grey sweatpants, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder and his eyes puffy and tired. He looked surprised to see Hanzo waiting for him, took in the sight of his estranged brother with a mixture of shock and uncertainty.

Ten years loomed between them and Hanzo wondered where that foolish saying--time heals all wounds--had come from. His heart hurt just as much now as the day his brother had left for America; their tongues full of bitter, hurtful things.

Genji ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture from his youth, and Hanzo zeroed in on the action, found himself surprised it wasn’t still green. As if his brother would have kept it like that all these years later. 

“I didn’t expect,” Genji muttered, stepping closer, the words clumsy on his tongue. He let the backpack slide from his shoulder and down to the floor, left it as he moved to close the distance between them.

Hanzo felt a brief flare of longing and panic as he recognized the beginning of a hug and stuck his hand out hurriedly instead, blocking Genji’s progress. Genji halted on the spot, stared at the offered hand. Confusion shifted across his features and then morphed into resentful hurt. They shook hands stiffly. As if they were near strangers and not brother’s reuniting after years. Hanzo took his hand back as soon as possible, fought the urge to wipe it clean on his pants. Genji’s palm had been sweaty.

They stood awkwardly, neither quite looking at the other until Hanzo muttered, “let’s go.”

They said nothing else as Hanzo led the way out of the airport, out into the balmy night and towards the carpark. 

Silence reigned even as they got into the car and began the long drive back to Hanamura, the scenery shifting between quiet houses and long expanses of tree-covered nothing. Trucks rumbled past, broke the silence with their roar.

“When is the funeral?” Genji finally asked, as the city lights sparkled in the distance. He’d spent most of the trip leaning against the door, eyes closed. Hanzo would look over at him now and again, trying to reconcile this unknown person with the brother he had known so long ago. This one seemed different somehow, his face sharper.

“In two days...” Hanzo began and then clucked his tongue and amended, “tomorrow.” His hands clenched around the steering wheel. “The wake is today.”

“Oh.” Genji pushed his shoulder away from the door, slouched upright in his seat. 

“You do not have to be there.”

“I want to be.” The lights of the road glimmered on Genji’s tears as they ran unhindered down his cheeks. “I should have come home sooner, I should have-” His voice cut off as he choked on a sob. Exhaustion and regret too much to bear. “Mother, she, was it quick?”

“She had cancer,” Hanzo snapped, unnecessarily ruthless, knuckles white and eyes blinking rapidly to fight back the tears that wanted to form. 

Genji groaned like someone had struck him. Hanzo might of well have. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did nobody tell me? I would have come sooner. I would have been here. I could have-”

“She did not want you to know. She did not want you to worry you.” The doctor’s office, the prognosis, ‘I’m so sorry but you only have four months’, his mother’s face pale and resigned. He’d pleaded with her for hours to try the chemotherapy, to try _anything_ but she had clutched his hand tight and refused. “She asked me not to tell you.”

“That isn’t fair!” Genji yelled the words into his knees, he’d collapsed forward, shaking.

“I know.” Hanzo wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to pull over and get out of the car and walk away into the night. 

They said nothing else after that. Another hour passed as they travelled through the city and beyond. Somewhere in the darkness Hanamura Castle would be up on the hill, looking down on the many houses nestled at the base. Hanzo pulled into their street and followed the familiar path to their family home, a traditional two story house surrounded by a high wall. A white paper lantern sat out the front, the flickering candle within informing the world that those within were in mourning.

“Our grandmother, aunts and cousins are here for the funeral as well,” Hanzo informed Genji once they were approaching the front steps. “I did not expect your flight to take so long. I had not organised a bed for you yet.” 

“It’s fine,” Genji mumbled behind him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“You can sleep in my room,” Hanzo informed him, his voice low, shushed by the dark and the knowledge that people were sleeping nearby. “Come.”

Every creak of the floorboards seemed too loud as they trudged their way up the stairs and down the hall to the door at the end. Genji stood swaying in the doorway, his eyes and cheeks red. Hanzo sighed and took his hand. The backpack hit the floor with a soft thud.

All this time and yet it still felt natural to lead his younger brother to bed, to push him gently but insistently down, to soothe him with the brush of his knuckles along his cheek. “Rest. I will wake you up before we need to go.” 

And just as familiar was the hand that shot out, snagging the hem of his shirt in a grip that Hanzo could easily have brushed off. “Stay,” Genji begged.

Hanzo’s will crumpled like paper.

“Roll over,” the words came out low and raw and Genji obliged immediately, turning onto his side facing the wall, his head cradled in one hand. Hanzo lowered himself down, fit snugly against him like the last piece of a puzzle finally put back together. Gingerly he put his arm around his brother and then once the initial uncertainty had passed, held tight, palm splayed against Genji’s broad chest to feel the rapid beating of his heart. He buried his nose in the soft, dark hair and shivered with old cravings reignited. 

He would allow himself just one moment. 

Then they would get through the funeral and Genji would leave again, return home to his life in America. There was too much hurt between them to fully reconcile. Since their father’s death, they had become strangers to each other, torn apart by foolish youth and a mountain of expectations. It was too much to hope that Genji would forgive him for all that he had done. It was too much to hope for him to stay.

Genji’s breathing slowly evened out into sleep and Hanzo followed soon after.

\---

Genji woke up alone. He rolled over, groggy, senses reaching out for whatever had dragged him from half-remembered dreams. Laughter drifted in through the open window, children playing despite the death that was no doubt hanging heavy over everyone else. He was exhausted and there was a rough tickle in his throat suggesting he was coming down with a cold. 

He covered his eyes with his palms, pressing down until pale patterns appeared in his vision. He chased them for a time, let them fade and reshape as he tried not to think about where he was or why. For ten years he’d avoided returning back to Japan. He was happy in his new life. He had great friends and a good job. There was no pressure or expectations. He could be _Genji_ without shame.

Now he was here all those old feelings were returning like a tidal wave, sweeping through his mind, washing away everything good he’d built. 

Genji finally dropped his hands away but still didn’t have the strength to rise. A child shrieked down in the yard. He thought his mother would be happy they were having fun, even on such a day. She’d always been far less of a traditionalist than his father or the rest of her family had been. His mother had come to visit him twice in America, marvelled at the sights and had told him she was proud, even as she asked him to come home, ‘see your brother, he misses you’. 

Now only her death had made her wish come true.

Genji fought the sudden urge to vomit, controlled it with five deep breaths. 

When he finally got up, it was to sit on the edge of the bed and realise how disgusting he felt. He’d been in these clothes for well over 24 hours now and he stunk of sweat. To distract himself, he looked around the room, at _Hanzo’s_ room. It was almost bare, as if hardly lived in. No pictures or nice decorations. Just a bed and a lamp in the corner. 

Genji made his exhausted body move in order to pee, discovering the en-suite bathroom not quite as bland as the bedroom because clearly his brother liked his skincare products. The discovery almost made him laugh until he recalled the firm press of a hand against his chest and the hot breath against the nape of his neck.

And then he remembered the admission in the car.

 _Cancer_. It made him want to scream. His mother had withered away and nobody had told him. Instead he had received a call from his older brother, shocked to hear his voice. His stomach had already been clenched, as if expecting bad news but nothing could prepare to hear Hanzo say the words, 'mother is dead, you need to come home'. Yet the anger he should have felt was muted, buried under regret and the constant voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was somehow _his fault_. When he thought of Hanzo, he couldn’t dredge up the necessary rage, there was only a constant yearning to be held close and comforted. 

He didn’t want to leave the room, as drab as it was, but he did, stepping out into a house that was both familiar and alien. A picture of a mountain to his left when he remembered there being one of dragons. The hallway filled with memories of his youth, running up and down, chasing his older brother, pretending to be a ninja’s in a battle to the death.

Every step was made with hesitation but he reached the bottom of the stairs and followed voices towards the kitchen. There he stood in the doorway, dishevelled and reluctant, watching as his two aunts, his mother’s older sisters, chatted to each other as they cleaned up after breakfast. Their dark hair was peppered with grey and they seemed somehow smaller than he recalled. 

Naoko noticed him first and the venom in her glare made him flinch before she controlled her expression. “Genji-kun. You are up.” 

Her twin Tamiko looked around and tutted softly. “You look terrible.”

“As he should,” Naoko said as she turned away. 

Genji licked his lips, looking around the large kitchen, full of memories. His mother had loved to bake and he’d always clung to her skirts, begging to taste the batter. “Is Hanzo around?”

“He is making calls, getting ready for today. He has been been such a good son, taking care of all the arrangements so quickly and on such an auspicious day. Sayuri would have been so proud.” Naoko’s voice quivered and Tamiko patted her arm with wet fingers. When they looked at him again, it was in silent accusation.

“I will go find him,” Genji croaked and escaped. 

But he didn’t even try, he just escaped upstairs to Hanzo’s bedroom and closed the door behind him. A decade of festering feelings. Of course they hated him. He’d betrayed the family. He hadn’t been there as she died. I didn’t know, he wanted to go back and yell at them but it wouldn’t make a difference. They’d made up their mind about the errant disrespectful son a very long time ago and he thought he’d stopped caring.

He took a shower, turned the heat up as high as he could handle, until his skin felt scalded.

\---

Hanzo found his brother sitting on his bed in just a towel, skin red from the shower. His shoulders were slumped forward, head cradled in his hands, the very image of despair.

“I came to wake you,” he said pointlessly.

Genji grunted in acknowledgement. 

“We need to leave in an hour.”

Genji didn’t respond.

Hanzo stared towards the window and deliberately not at Genji. He could feel his heart in his throat, thudding dramatically, as if it wanted to climb up and out. If it wanted to go, he would let it. All it had ever done was cause him pain.

“Genji-”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Genji interrupted him. “I don’t have a suit.”

“I have a few that might fit you.” Hanzo walked over to his closet, picked through the nearly identical suits until he found one that would work.

“They hate me,” Genji said suddenly and Hanzo froze.

“Who does?” He asked, despite knowing exactly what his brother was referring to.

“Naoko, Tamiko, I’m sure everyone else.”

“You left. After father died, you left. You left mother and you left...” _me_. Hanzo walked the suit over to the bed, placed it neatly beside his brother. Genji was still sitting in the same position. There was a water droplet on his shoulder. Hanzo’s fingers twitched. “All she talked about was you, about how she could not wait to see you again. About how we would have dinner together and everyone would be happy.”

The words were cruel but he couldn’t seem to stem the flow. “And now she is dead and here you are. Of course they hate you.”

Genji gave a mirthless bark of laughter. “They hated me before then. Naoko used to pinch my ear when mother wasn’t looking. My nineteenth birthday when I turned up to the family dinner drunk, do you remember?”

Hanzo stared down at the suit, smoothed the fabric with his hand. “I do.”

“She said to me that night, ‘I always knew you would turn out this way’.” Genji was still laughing, body shaking with it. “And then the next year, when I announced to everyone that I was gay. Because being gay is what people in movies do. You don’t have a gay son or nephew. You certainly don’t say it out loud or tell your neighbours.”

“And yet you told everyone.”

“Because I wasn’t ashamed,” the laughter stopped, replaced by vile bitterness, “unlike some.”

Hanzo swallowed around the lump in his throat. He looked over at Genji, at the dark wet hair curled against the nape of his neck, watched as beads of water dripped slowly down his back, along the curve of his spine. “Get dressed,” he ordered and nearly ran from the room in his haste to escape.

\---

Genji took his time getting ready. The day was already warm and he felt stuffy the moment he pulled on his clothes, all the time wishing he’d taken a cold shower instead. His skin still prickled with the heat of it. 

His stomach felt sick again, a constant churning. Hanzo had fled and Genji wished he would come back, if only so he could apologise. One of the things he had come to understand over his time away was how deeply the concept of shame had buried itself within his brother. It was a constant presence, a reminder of his imperfection. Where Genji had embraced who he was, Hanzo had turned away from it. That had been the thing that had torn them apart in the end.

When he retrieved his backpack from the floor where he’d left, he held it in his lap and unzipped one of the inside pockets, where his passport and cash was kept secure. There was a photo there as well, two young men, only one of them smiling at the camera. The only problem with the picture was that Genji could remember that Hanzo had smiled immediately afterwards and complained he hadn’t been ready. They had been happy then, or as happy as they could be. That was when their father had still been alive, before the family business and the momentous weight of being the oldest son had fallen onto Hanzo’s shoulders. Before Genji had tried to escape it all, chased his freedom across the ocean and left his heart behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg why are you still here?


	2. and we ignite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long wait for a relatively short chapter, my apologies! I was doing a lot of research on Japanese funerals for this and the next chapter and then trying to get the tone right. I did my best to be respectful while also showing it through the eyes of someone who is not in the best headspace.
> 
> The next chapter won't take as long. it's written and I'll drop it soon.
> 
> No beta, be gentle but feel free to point out mistakes!

The day became an endless nightmare, a procession of pain that Genji was forced to endure. First it was the wake, standing beside his stoic brother as they greeted guests together. Genji recognised most of his relatives and some old friends of the family. They seemed unsure whether to acknowledge his presence or not, the black sheep returned, a name not to be spoken about in polite company. There was not a smile to be seen within a sea of faces and he fidgeted awkwardly as Hanzo received their condolences and respectful bows, soft polite nothings falling easily off his lips. 

The children had finally been forced to acknowledge the gravity of the moment and were sitting quietly, though one young girl, whom he had sat next to in the backseat of the car on the drive over, kept turning to stare at him with wide eyes. She’d shown him her new game, explaining about Yo-kai Watch until her Grandmother Naoko had leaned around from the front seat and shushed her.

Genjii and Hanzo were ushered into place, seated at the front before the altar as the Buddhist monk began the sutra. Genji’s suit felt too tight under the arms but he tried not to squirm like a child. Just the sight of the casket made him feel ill, knowing who was within. Knowing that his mother was cold and stiff inside, all the warm life having fled. There would never be another engulfing hug or no kiss on the cheek. Gone was the affirming knowledge that at least one person in this world loved him unconditionally. 

Beside him Hanzo remained poised and Genji snuck glances at him, inspecting the face that had surprised him at the airport. His brother had always looked regal but now it was even more pronounced, in the grey-streaked tufts of hair and the precisely shaped beard that framed his mouth and plush lips. He looked handsome and stern. It was the sort of face you would expect on a man who would ride into war on a horse, banners held high, a general ready to conquer the world.

As if feeling his gaze, Hanzo turned his head slightly. His lips flattened, pressed into a thin line and Genji looked away. He wiped his sweaty palm against his pants and looked straight ahead, seeing nothing.

A hand settled on his own and he startled, a soft surprised sound escaping. Hanzo gently pressed something into his palm and when Genji looked down he realised it was a set of prayer beads. He curled his fingers around it as Hanzo took back his hand, touched each round bead in turn, running them under his thumb, to calm his fraying nerves. The feeling didn’t last long. 

They lit incense and when his turn came, Genji’s fingers shook as he bowed. The incense clogged his nose, made him feel sick. The constant droning of the sutra made his head pound. He could feel his aunt’s gaze burning into the back of his neck behind him. His mother stared back at him, a picture of her face, warm smiles and rosy cheeks. It was a relief to step back and let the others take their turn. He thought he saw a tear on Naoko’s cheek. 

“Will you stay for the vigil?” Tamiko asked him once the guests had all departed. She had Genji’s grandmother on her arm. The old lady watched Genji with knowing dark eyes, wrinkled lips twisted into an odd smile. She’d always been a distant figure, living far to the south and unwilling to travel away from her home. 

Genji choked on his reply, felt the terror of having to sit through the night with these people. Even for his mother, he was not sure he could endure it.

Then Hanzo was there, a warm presence at his side, an anchor in a turbulent sea.

“No, he will not,” Hanzo answered for him, gaze unreadable. Then he looked at his brother and said, “you should go now.” His words were both freedom and pain. It was hard to tell if he was truly unwanted or if Hanzo had simply sensed that he was close to breaking.

Genji fled.

\---

He returned to the house at first, wandered alone through the rooms that he had been unable to explore since his arrival. The same and yet different. Here was his name scratched into the edge of the floorboards, the sound of his father’s anger still a vivid memory, and there the place Hanzo had hit his head and cut it open. Genji had been young but he remembered crying as they bundled his brother up and rushed him to the hospital. Hanzo had been fine, a few stitches and some painkillers. He had given Genji his cup of jelly and let him sit beside him on the hospital bed.

Only one room was locked, their father’s old study and Genji lingered in front of it, realising it must be Hanzo’s now. 

When he finally found himself in front of the family altar, he knelt awkwardly before it and took out the prayer beads, tried to pray but couldn’t even think of the right words. All he could do was stare at the photos that had been placed there, family pictures where she was happy and hale. A young Sayuri in her wedding dress, beaming. His father beside her, in formal attire, handsome and proud. Apparently his mother had argued long and hard to be able to wear the Western white dress with the long train and jeweled bodice. She was beautiful.

Another photo with her in the garden, sunhat on and a three year old Hanzo playing in the dirt beside her. The swell of her belly was obvious. It was the only picture that technically had Genji in it. 

Genji stayed there until his knees hurt and then wandered aimlessly back upstairs, to sit in the bland and boring bedroom until the itch to get out was too strong. He changed, leaving the suit and prayer beads on the bed and pulling on the t-shirt and jeans, the only change of clothes he had brought with him. Then he caught the train to the city as the afternoon turned towards night.

Genji held his own vigil at a small bar in the city, drank himself stupid with three others, all businessmen in suits. One of them cried near the end, sobbed into his hands about how much he hated his job and his life. He left that man at the train station, slumped in a corner and wandered the streets, found himself blinded and distracted by all the lights and signs, the giant billboards that pumped music into the streets as they promoted the newest gadget or product. 

He had once known these streets intimately. His penchant for spending money had gained him entrance to wherever he desired. Men and women flocking to him, subjects begging to be on his arm as he imagined himself free, king of the neon streets. Now it was just the foolish ideal of a boy; a hollow crown that had meant nothing.

A crowd spilled out of a club as it closed up with the dawn and someone caught his arm. He let himself be led into an alley, let them fumble at his clothing. For a little while he pretended it was somebody else but the cold hands that slipped into his pants couldn’t seem to rouse him and he pushed the other man aside and stumbled away frustrated and angry. 

The funeral was tomorrow, no, today. He had walked the streets for so many hours the sun was rising and harsh sobriety was settling in. They would bid his mother a final goodbye, cremate her and bring her home as ashes. He hadn’t cried at the wake but he would cry today. He would cry ugly tears and break the solemn detachment of his family. Old blood wasn’t supposed to show emotion. They were supposed to be tough and unmoved, feelings buried as far down as possible.Or maybe that was just his family. When he was younger, they had seemed hard as stone. Let them see his tears and know how he mourned, every last piece of him aching. He hoped it would embarrass them. 

Would Hanzo cry? Probably not. Whatever tears were to be shed, would be behind closed doors, where his weakness would not be on display. That had always been Hanzo’s way. Even ten years wouldn’t change that. Though Genji couldn’t help but wonder if his brother was any different at all and if he would even get a chance to get to know him and find out. Genji was caught, wanting to push forward but afraid of rejection. Just being near Hanzo made him crave more.

Talk to me, hold me, comfort me, love me, please. 

Until Genji had seen him at the airport, a man changed and yet undeniably recognizable, a connection that could not be severed by time, he hadn’t even realised how much he had missed his brother. Now it was a constant ache, eased only by a touch or a glance. Made worse by the thought of Hanzo turning away from him and the long flight back to America.

As the sun greeted him, hot on his face, promising a sweltering day, Genji made his way back towards the place that had once been his home.

\---

“You are drunk,” Hanzo accused his brother with a hiss, pouncing on Genji the moment he stepped through the door and hustling him up the stairs before the rest of the family could notice. 

Genji nearly fell on the steps, stumbled forward and only Hanzo’s grip on him kept him from breaking his nose. 

“I’m a bit drunk,” Genji mumbled back as he was marched down the hall, nearly throwing both of them off balance when he tried to stop and look at that picture of a mountain again. The dragon one had been better. One green and one blue, circling each other. He wondered where it had gone.

“The funeral is in half an hour.” Hanzo’s words were clipped and sharp with his anger as the bedroom door slammed behind them. “Where did you go?”

“Out. About. It wasn’t much fun.” Genji wrestled himself free of Hanzo’s hold and flopped down sideways on the bed to make his head stop swimming. It didn’t work. “Did you stay with her all night?”

“Of course not,” Hanzo snapped, looking him over in disgust. “We stayed there until dinner, we ate, we talked and then we came home to rest. I was expecting to see you here. Your fly is undone. Why is your fly undone?” 

Genji looked down at himself and then back at his brother, the flared nostrils and drawn down brows. He snorted in laughter at the sight. “Why do you think? Someone got a little grabby.” He wriggled his hand for emphasis. 

Hanzo’s expression became even more thunderous. “Get up. Get in the shower.”

“No.” Genji rolled his face into the pillow, feeling like a recalcitrant teenager again. The alcohol was still a familiar buzz in his mind. 

He wasn’t expecting Hanzo to grab him by the shoulder and pull him off the bed. His knees hit the ground hard and he yelped, flailing an arm out and hitting his brother’s broad chest with little impact. To steady himself he wrapped a hand around a muscled arm and clung tight. Hanzo tried to haul him up to his feet but Genji let his weight drop instead, pulling them both down towards the ground. After a brief tussle, Genji ended up on his back with Hanzo kneeling over him, chest heaving and expression full of an intense emotion Genji couldn’t name. 

Or perhaps he could. He could feel the echo of it in his chest.

They stared at each other, a long shared look that Genji was forced to break, closing his eyes to escape it. 

“I’ll stay home,” Genji told his brother, too weary to struggle. “I won’t embarrass you or anyone else. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nobody wants me there.”

There was a long silence, filled with only their soft breathing until Hanzo let words fall reluctantly but honestly from his lips, “I want you there.”

Genji’s eyes fluttered open to take in the rare sight of Hanzo with his defences down, the raw hurt on his face, the desperation. It seemed like a reflection of his own pain and he instantly wanted to sob and drag his brother close. 

“I am tired,” Hanzo continued. “I am so tired. I watched her die, Genji. It was so slow and so painful. I need you there. I need you.” 

Need. It reached him in a way those groping fingers hadn’t and he took half a moment to think about how inappropriate it was when Hanzo was talking about their dead mother but couldn’t bring himself to care. All he really heard was that single word. 

He thought he’d lost this or any chance of it, this connection. Yet here it was staring him in the face. It had happened like this before, always when Hanzo was at his weakest, that was when Genji could reach out and not be rebuffed. He recognised it for what it was and took advantage of it anyway. 

Genji made a sound unbidden, a groan in the back of his throat and reached up to take a fistful of the dark expensive suit his brother had chosen to wear and pull him downwards. There was only the slightest resistance before Hanzo came willingly. They crashed together, a collision that had been ten years waiting. A kiss to drown in, a press of their lips so needy it was if they were each trying to suck the soul from the other’s body.

He knew he probably tasted like stale alcohol but Hanzo didn’t seem to care, he kissed with urgency, reclaiming Genji’s mouth with his tongue. Genji wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s back, trapped him there, returned the kiss with fervent need, feeling the thrill of it all the way down to his toes. 

Please, please, please, he wanted to beg but his mouth was busy and so he said it with his body, arching his hips up, seeking contact. Then Hanzo’s hand was there to answer the plea; he could feel his fingers trembling as they pushed at waistband of his jeans.

The knock at the door startled them both into freezing.

“Hanzo-kun,” Naoko called, “we thought we should leave soon. Are you ready?”

Hanzo planted his hands on the floorboards either side of Genji and lifted himself away. Genji watched the struggle as he controlled his breathing and thoughts, enough to reply to their aunt with a casual, “Genji is just taking a shower. We will be ready soon.”

“Okay but hurry, grandmother is getting impatient.” The disapproval in her tone seemed all the more damning considering their position. 

There was a tense wait as they remained locked in place, letting the minutes tick past until they were certain she was gone.

Genji licked his lips, watched as his brother’s gaze flicked down to his mouth, and ventured, “Hanzo-” 

“We will talk about this later,” Hanzo cut him off, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. There was an obvious bulge in his pants. Genji considered reaching out, offering to fix the problem quickly but instead he pushed himself upright. His progress into a standing position a lot wobblier than Hanzo’s. His head hurt and his mouth felt tingly. The rush of endorphins was already fading, leaving only hazy exhaustion. 

“Talk later,” Genji repeated, making it sound like a promise, and Hanzo nodded curtly.

When he stumbled into the bathroom, he couldn’t help but smile, the expression stretching painfully on his face. Hanzo still wanted him, still needed him. He just needed to get past the funeral and they would speak of the desire that had consumed them in their youth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! I really hope you enjoy what comes next! C:


	3. rinse and repeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays and a Merry Xmas to all of my readers! Thank you for your support, I hope you enjoy this chapter and are having a lovely day!
> 
> Your required listening for this chapter is [Jungle by Emma Louise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkvXh54EYVE). ;D
> 
> Un-beta'd! Feel free to point out any terrible mistakes.

Today felt like being stuck in a weird time loop where everything was almost the same except worse. Back in the slightly too-tight suit, back in the car, except this time the young girl beside him was silent after whispering an apologetic, ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you’. Genji was entirely too aware of Hanzo driving the car, his heart skipping a beat whenever the other man looked into the rearview mirror, wondering whether it was to check on him or just to watch the road.

His exhaustion was a steadily building thing, the lack of sleep creeping up and pounding in his temples. His hangover was another layer, turning his emotions into a muddled mess. 

The funeral itself was almost an exact copy of the wake, the same family and the same guests, all crowding together in mourning. More incense and chanting, except now the casket was open and he could see his mother’s face, the lines on her skin softened with death and her hair artfully arranged. She still looked pretty, despite everything. Genji could hardly bear to look at her. Hanzo had clearly spared no expense and there was an appreciative murmur through the crowd when her new name, her _kaimyō_ , was revealed. 

There was countless years of tradition here and Genji didn’t care for it at all. A part of him wished this could be more like the funerals he’d attended in America, simple and done within a single day. There would be no burning and picking through the ashes. He wouldn’t have to sort through his mother’s bones with chopsticks. 

His skin itched. The presence of his brother beside him was constantly on his mind. Every time Hanzo shifted even slightly in his seat or moved his hand or tapped his foot, Genji felt the echo of it. _Talk later_. He was obsessing over the the thought, his desire making his grief feel like a faraway thing. Ten years ago he’d gotten onto a plane, trying to drown that flame but what had slowly become an ember had needed only the slightest puff of air to become a bonfire. 

The tears that he had wanted to shed were not there. He was dry eyed and uncomfortable. It was his grandmother that was sobbing, the old woman mourning her daughter with small hiccups as her remaining children tried to console her. A man a few rows back was also crying. Genji could hear him and he wondered who it was and how he’d known his mother. Whoever he was he had probably known her better than her own son had. 

He was supposed to have had more time. He was only thirty-five, too early to be saying farewell to his mother. Not when he’d wasted so much time. 

There was a sharply audible intake of breath beside him and when he turned to look, it was Hanzo with his eyes squeezed closed, nostrils flared, as if desperately fighting back his emotions. The sight was mesmerizing. Genji reached out, just his hand, placed it palm up against Hanzo’s thigh. His brother didn’t open his eyes, he just accepted the offer, linked their hands and squeezed tightly until Genji was sure his bones might break. He squeezed back just as hard.

_Talk later_. The wouldn’t talk. They would fight. Genji knew it. That was how they’d always handled their emotions. Hanzo would tell him he hadn’t really wanted to kiss him. Genji would call him a liar. Hanzo would promise it would never happen again and Genji would get angry. They hadn’t changed so much that they wouldn’t fall into old habits. Genji could see it unfolding already, predicting a future he was powerless to change. 

He was reluctant to let Hanzo’s hand go but the funeral had to be finished. They laid flowers around Sayuri’s body and Genji looked down at her with her painted lips, wondered what it was like to be that person whose job it was to make the dead look less lifeless. 

The next part would be the worst and he could already feel his chest constricting with anxiety as he found a place to sit down and wait. 

“Hey,” a small voice said and he looked over at his cousin’s daughter. She settled on the seat beside him, her hair up in pigtails. 

“You better not talk to me. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“It’s okay. Nobody is watching.” It was true. They were all huddled together, a family unit. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, nieces and nephews. People he should have known and been able to count on. Was that his fault or theirs? “I’m sorry Sayuri-san is dead. She was really nice.”

“Yeah,” Genji leaned forward on his elbows and hung his head, “she was.”

“My name is Kaori.” She swung her feet; they didn’t quite reach the ground. “I heard my grandmother and mother talking and they said they were surprised you came home and that Sayuri-san died because you broke her heart.”

Genji felt a lone tear dribble down the side of his nose and watched in surprise as it dropped to the floor. “I... that isn’t true.” At least he hoped it wasn't.

“I didn’t think so.” Kaori flicked one pigtail back primly. “Adults are weird.”

He smiled at her tone. “I’m an adult.”

She thought about that, her nose wrinkling. “Are you weird?”

“Very.”

“Well, that’s okay.” Kaori laughed. “Sayuri-san told me lots of stuff. She said you used to be really naughty and do silly things like roll down the stairs or bring home stray dogs or put bugs in Hanzo-san’s hair.” She leaned in for an exaggerated whisper, brown eyes wide. “Did you _really_ put bugs in Hanzo-san’s hair?” 

“Sure did,” he told her, couldn't help but grin at the memory. Hanzo had screamed every time.

Her eyes widened even further, as if that was the bravest, most remarkable thing she’d ever heard. “Wow!”

“Kaori-chan?” They both looked up towards the voice and Genji automatically smiled at his cousin. Kaori’s mother smiled hesitantly back. “Come on sweetie, we need to take Grandmother to go rest before the cremation.” 

“Okay.” Kaori popped off her seat. “See you soon.”

He waved her off and sat back, gaze instantly seeking out Hanzo. Across the room his brother was making sure everything was under control, always the good son, the responsible son. That was the part Genji wanted to tear apart.

\---

It was finally over.

His mother was truly gone.

Hanzo was tired right down to his bones. He felt impossibly old, as if somehow he’d gained thirty years. His back ached, his feet ached. But his heart hurt the worst. There was a hollow space there. He was so empty and yet so full of despair he felt like he was choking on it.

At least the day was over, or almost over. Genji kept looking at him expectantly, inching closer as they all piled out of the car in silence. Naoko was holding the urn full of Sayuri’s ashes, ready to be placed at the altar. The faces around him were tear streaked and sad, except for Genji’s. Genji looked exhausted, dark rings around his eyes and pale-skinned, thanks to a night getting drunk and laid. 

But not a single tear.

Anger lanced through him unbidden, an ugly thing that made him feel ill. Even though the logical part of him knew that Genji was simply dealing with the loss in his own way, he’d expected more. 

Genji had always been the expressive one and Hanzo had been waiting for the outburst, the tears and grief, enough for him as well, enough for the whole room. It had always been easier to remain seemingly emotionless and have Genji express everything for him instead; joy, anger, sadness. Even so many years later, those old expectations were still in place. 

Having Genji back in his life, everything was different and yet everything was also the same. It was a troubling sensation, impossible to wrap his head around when he was so utterly exhausted. 

“Hanzo,” Genji was at his side as soon as they stepped through the door. 

Hanzo squeezed his eyes shut for a second, wishing him away and then opened them again to find his brother staring back at him with his jaw set with determination. There was no escape. Genji would hound him until he got what he wanted.

“We’ll be in my office,” he informed the family as they all drifted apart, some towards the kitchen to start on dinner and the rest towards the altar. Within a few days they would all leave, head back home and his life would descend into solitude. He would be glad to see them go. If Naoko and Tamiko hinted about marriage and children one more time, while tutting their tongues and shaking their heads, he was going to scream.

Genji was on his heels all the way up the stairs.

He opened the door to his office and stepped inside, letting Genji enter first. His brother stopped a few steps in, gaze roaming the room. Bookcases lined the space, filled to burst. Where there was available wall, he’d covered it in pictures and Genji seemed to be staring at one in particular, the one with the dragons he’d never been able to throw out.

The desk was large and the chair behind it plush and inviting. There was very little light in the room and Hanzo closed the door, walking around his brother to turn on the lamp. 

“You live here,” Genji said.

Hanzo shook his head, too exhausted to decipher his brother’s nonsense. “This is my office, Genji.”

“No but...” His brother trailed off, hands speaking for him, fluttering in useless gestures. “Anyway, talk, we need to talk about-”

Hanzo scowled and dropped into his chair. Of course they were here to talk, of course that was what Genji expected but Hanzo’s felt himself becoming belligerent, could taste the sourness of it on his tongue but didn’t try to stop his reaction.

“No.” The word was sharp and unpleasant. 

They’d just farewelled their mother, now was not the time to talk about their incestuous desire. Not when her ashes were downstairs and the memory still raw. He’d let it get the better of him that morning and it wouldn’t happen again. That was a weakness he could not allow himself. 

Genji gave a mirthless laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “I knew you would do this.”

“Do what, Genji?” Hanzo already knew the answer. 

“ _This_. It’s always the same thing.”

It was like stepping into an old argument, the foundation already in place, all resentment and cruelty. They were reading between the lines, the old echoing with the new. Hanzo felt the hollowness expand, from his chest to his gut. He was too tired for this.

“Please Genji,” he closed his eyes, “I don’t want to do this.”

“You never want to but we need to-”

Something snapped violently. “Stop, Genji!” His eyes opened, pinned his brother to the spot. His younger brother, this creature he’d always wanted with such savage intensity that it terrified him. “Enough. There is nothing to be said. You will leave soon and I will be glad to see you go. Do you really thing you could come back here to drag me down again? You left me. You left me to shoulder the burden here alone.” Now his life loomed ahead of him, a dark and shadowy thing, without his mother’s bright smile in the morning. Only his work and the ever present pressure to settle down and have children. A rich bachelor at thirty-eight was an unsuitable thing.

Genji stared back at him, pale. 

“I would stay,” his brother told him, sorrow in his voice. “This time I would stay... for you.”

Hanzo felt his chest spasm, his breath caught in his throat.

“Do you want me?” Genji asked. 

The Genji in front of him was older but that earnest openness was still the same. They’d done this before as well, in a different room, standing close together, one of their last arguments before Genji left. Except that Genji had wanted him to leave as well, to go with him into the unknown, to somewhere they could be together without shame. 

“Of course I want you,” he allowed. Genji’s eyes brightened hopefully and Hanzo immediately sought to destroy it. “But that is not enough.”

“Yes, it is,” his brother pleaded, taking careful steps forward. Hanzo wished he was standing, just so he could step back and keep Genji at bay. “Give us a chance.”

Hanzo steeled himself. Genji was so close. It would be so easy to reach out and pull him into his lap, relearn every inch of his body with his fingers and tongue. But the answer could only be the same as it had been all those years ago. There was no place for them in this world and he was too tired to entertain the possibility. 

“No,” he told his brother and waited for the bitter tirade that was sure to follow. 

It never came.

Genji stared at him instead and Hanzo wondered what was going on on his mind, he could almost see the gears turning, the way his expression shifted into thoughtful calculation. He watched Genji wet his lips, the tantalising flick of a pink tongue. 

“Fine,” Genji said. 

Then his eyes closed. 

Genji swayed briefly on the spot, as if suddenly overwhelmed before pulling himself together with visible effort. Hanzo could only watch as his brother walked away, both relieved that the fight was over before it had truly begun and irritated by the unexpected response. The door closed behind Genji with a gentle click and Hanzo was left behind with his bitter thoughts.

\---

Genji plodded towards his brother’s room, barely made it to the bed before his body gave up trying to carry him any further. He sunk gratefully down into the pillows, curled up onto his side, aware that one leg was still half off the bed and unable to find the necessary energy to remedy it. He’d saved everything up for that last conversation. 

It was like riding a horse that only knew one familiar path and no matter how hard you tugged on the reigns, it was stubbornly heading in that same direction. The trick was, the thought had struck Genji like a bolt of lightning as Hanzo gave his expected refusal, not to try force the horse to do anything. You had to be gentle. You had to get off the horse and lead it yourself.

The idea was still at the blurry edges of his mind as sleep dragged him down.

Dreams assaulted him; hazy and uncomfortable, waking him in brief starts, barely recognizing he was even awake before sinking again. His mother’s laughter, her lips painted bright and her skin sallow; his brother, his hair long again, beautiful and cruel, driving a sword down, down down, unrelenting; the roar of a dragon, two, now three, entwining, destroying each other; a lonely mountain vista, stretching out, the cold that he knows is there but he cannot feel, his heart so very empty; a kiss that burns. 

Genji woke slowly, gradually taking stock. The headache was still in place, as if someone was drilling into his temples. His mouth was dry, parched, with a horrendous aftertaste of bile which made him check the pillow near his nose to make sure he hadn’t thrown up at any point. If he had, he’d probably swallowed it down. How pathetic. He’d gone out, gotten drunk and turned up hungover to his mother’s funeral. 

His left arm was trapped under his body, almost numb and when he shifted to set it free, it erupted in pins and needles. Genji swore viciously at the sensation and sat up, nearly blacked out from the sudden movement when his head swam and black spots exploded in his eyes. The blanket that had been wrapped around him pooled at his waist and he stared at it in confusion, sat worrying at the edges of it with his fingers.

When he was able to get up, he folded the blanket neatly, smoothing his hand across the soft fabric. Genji stumbled to the bathroom first, stuck his head under the tap and gulped down mouthful after mouthful until his stomach sloshed and he felt ill with it. He brushed his teeth gingerly, made sure the toothbrush didn’t stray too far back and accidentally trigger his gag reflex.

Another shower would be nice but he gave up on the thought after stripping out of the now thoroughly rumpled and stinking suit. Instead he raided Hanzo’s closet until he found a shirt and pants that looked like they could be old exercise clothes and pulled them on. He still didn’t feel quite human but he was getting there.

Genji checked the time on his phone, blinked through bleary eyes at the screen, the little error message in the top corner reminding him that he would need to buy a Japanese sim card. The time was apparently 5:30AM. He groaned, pinching his nose between his fingers. There would be a lot to do. He’d already changed all his money to yen. There hadn’t been much to start with as he’d always been a paycheck to paycheck kind of guy. But he would also have to quit his job in the states and call his roommate and he wasn’t looking forward to either prospect.

Genji sat down on the bed to look through his bag, at the scant amount of items he’d brought with him. Had he even left anything worth shipping over? Other than a few clothes he was fond of and some sentimental items, there was very little worth bothering with. Ten years and hardly anything to show for it. Such a sad, pointless life he had.

He dropped the bag at his feet and tumbled sideways, buried his face into the pillow and sniffed, as if seeking Hanzo’s smell. But there was nothing left of his brother here, just some drool still drying.

Get up, he ordered himself and was surprised when his body complied. 

He trudged his way downstairs, expecting to find the house locked down by the late hour and was instead derailed by a hive of activity. He stood on the bottom of the stairs, listening and watching as his various family members went about their business. There were men here now, husbands of his aunts and cousins, who’d arrived for the funeral and were planning on heading back already so as not to miss too much work. 

Nobody spared him a glance as he sat down on the final step of the stairs and watched with growing dismay and confusion.

Kaori found him there, plopped down beside him with her 3DS. 

“Shouldn’t everyone be asleep?” He asked.

“Why?” She frowned at the game, hissed something under her breath. Instead of answering he showed her his phone, the large numbers reading the time. She snorted at him. “It’s only nine something. My bedtime is at ten.”

“Oh,” was all he could respond with because of course, he hadn’t changed the timezone.

“You missed dinner,” Kaori said, scowling at him with all the disapproval a seven year old could muster, which was apparently quite a lot. “Grandmother Naoko saved you some food. You should eat it.”

“Sure,” he murmured, rubbed the back of his neck and felt sick just at the thought. “Hey, do you know the WiFi password?”

“Of course. It’s Shimada Hanzo but all lower case.”

Genji keyed it into the phone, waited the few seconds it took to connect and said, “that is the worst password ever.” He shook his head. That was going to have to change. Rising, he patted Kaori’s head, made her squeak. “Thanks.”

He returned to hiding in Hanzo’s room, curled up on the bed and stared at the flood of concerned messages from his friends. They’d looked after him, taken him in, supported him when he was in a strange country, his English rudimentary at best. A part of him longed for them, wanted more than anything for a strong shoulder to lean on and a pair of warm arms to hold him and tell him it would be okay. 

But then he thought of his brother, left behind in this big house. 

Genji had done it once before. He’d run away from his problems. Not now, not this time. 

Genji keyed a message, let it sit on his phone for a long time before finally sending it.

_I’m sorry guys, I can’t come back. I’m staying in Japan. My brother needs me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're through the funeral and I'm really excited for the next part; reconnecting! Hope you'll stick with me!


	4. stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get this one in during Shimadacest week!
> 
> Yay for more crying!

The family left but Genji didn’t. 

Hanzo kept waiting for him to go - the grand announcement, the casual ‘I’m leaving’ or to simply disappear one morning. Instead, as soon as they’d bid Naoko, Tamiko and the last of the family a proper goodbye at the gate, Genji asked which room he could move into. Hanzo trailed behind him as he picked up that one backpack, as if it was the most precious object he’d ever held, and gently planted it on his new bed.

Though it was not exactly new. The room had once been Genji’s long ago and hints of him still remained; old posters of some spiky-haired boyband and various video games, the same dresser covered in awards from when Genji had been in school, earned during the brief amount of time in which he’d cared enough to participate in sport, an anime figurine that Genji had begged to get for his birthday. Nobody had taken the time to pack any of it away and Hanzo hated to admit that the room was, in some regard, a shrine to the Genji he had known. 

Hanzo stood in the doorway as Genji inspected the space, uncertain what to do, part of him convinced he should tell his brother to leave, before he was buried deep under the skin, too integral to cast aside. The words never formed.

“Can I borrow some money?” Genji asked him, rubbing at his upper arm, embarrassed. “I need to buy new clothes and organise a phone plan.”

Hanzo wordlessly fetched his wallet, pulled out all the cash and handed it over.

Their fingers brushed. 

Hanzo looked aside. 

Genji stuffed the money away in his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back once I find a job.”

Which was the exact moment Hanzo realised that Genji’s plan was to stay. He ruminated over it long after Genji had left the house to get his affairs in order, like a dog with a bone, gnawing and chewing. 

Did Hanzo even want his brother to stay? Of course. Something had loosened in his chest, a weight dislodged that he hadn’t realised was even there. For a moment, he could breathe and imagine a future with his brother at his side. Together - until they ultimately ruined whatever fragile peace was starting to grow. Even as he grew accustomed to the idea of Genji staying, he knew it couldn’t last. Doubt was too ingrained in him to let go completely.

And almost as quickly as his relief had arrived, he felt his emotions piling up again, mistrust and uncertainty whispering in his ear, clawing at him. Of course Genji would leave eventually. They were only delaying the inevitable. 

Hanzo found himself alone in the house for the rest of the day, busied himself with small tasks; cleaning, tending to his mother’s garden or kneeling by her altar. He avoided his office and his phone, knowing somebody would be trying to contact him, wondering when he was going to return to work. The business could run without him but there was always something that needed to be overseen anyway, some problem that needed to be fixed. He’d given himself the rest of the week off and had expected to be ready to dive in and distract himself before then but Genji’s presence was constantly at the back of his mind now, a distraction.

As he started on dinner that night, going through the familiar motions, he realised he was automatically cooking for two and his emotions shifted so quickly, from intense sorrow to jubilation, it felt like whiplash. His mother was no longer here to share the meal but there was somebody else to sit with him at the table. He wasn’t alone. He nearly started crying, his fingers clenching the kitchen counter painfully hard. 

_If_ Genji even came home. If he wasn’t out there, in the city, getting drunk and kissing strangers.

The mere thought was a kick in the gut. 

\---

Genji did come home. 

Hanzo stepped into the hallway when he heard the door, watched as Genji walked inside with his shoes on, swore and walked back again to peel them off using his heels. There were plastic bags on both arms, held in the crook of his elbow.

“Here,” Hanzo offered, reaching out to take them. 

Genji smiled at him, bright and open. “Thanks.”

Hanzo took the bags, felt the weight of them with his fingers, the plastic biting into the skin. “I made dinner.” 

“I can smell it.” Genji sniffed the air theatrically. “Smells yum.”

Then they simply stood there, Hanzo holding bags he wasn’t sure what to do with and Genji watching him, something behind his eyes Hanzo was reluctant to name. He handed the bags back, feeling awkward in his own skin in a way he hadn’t felt for years. 

“I’ll be down in a bit,” Genji promised and Hanzo watched him take the stairs, two at a time. 

Their first dinner together alone was a quiet affair, the atmosphere companionable and yet strained, full of quick glances and the occasional ‘mmm’ from Genji. Hanzo kept waiting for something to happen but nothing did. There was no eruption. They simply ate.

“Can I cook tomorrow?” Genji asked, a piece of carrot poised to enter his mouth, held rigid between his chopsticks.

“If you like,” Hanzo replied, as he moved the last of his rice together at the bottom of the bowl. 

“Not that your food is bad,” Genji added hurriedly. “I just want to contribute.” He bit down on the carrot, lost control of the other half and watched as it tumbled to the table. He made a face, picked the errant piece back up neatly with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth to join the rest. “So we can go shopping? For groceries?”

Hanzo hesitated for only a moment. “Yes.”

They finished their meal and Genji stood to collect the dishes, wordlessly taking to the task with a small smile on his lips. Hanzo watched him from his seat, fingers still curled around his cup of tea, sought for something to break the silence and couldn’t quite latch onto anything that didn’t seem forced. So he enjoyed the moment instead, watched Genji’s back as he hand washed the dishes in the sink, found his gaze roaming, watching the shift of his muscles beneath the grey t-shirt.

Hanzo didn’t realise Genji had even spoken to him until he looked back over his shoulder and their eyes met. Genji arched one eyebrow and repeated himself, “I said, how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Hanzo answered, looking away. Not as tired as he had been but it was still there, a lingering band of suffering that brought exhaustion with it. But it was a better answer than the other feelings swimming just below the surface.

“You should rest then. Take a bath.” Genji turned, leaned back against the counter as he dried his hands on a tea towel.

The soft kindness in his voice was almost Hanzo’s undoing. He longed to hold or be held, warm arms full of comfort. But he couldn’t show that kind of weakness, not here, not now, not with everything he was trying to deny.

“I will,” he said as he rose from the table, using it as an escape.

\---

“I don’t remember this being here,” Genji said, tone slightly accusatory as he stared at the massive supermarket. 

Hanzo made a sound, either amusement or annoyance or maybe both, Genji couldn’t quite tell, and ordered, “come on.”

They approached the building; two people out of the many roaming between the supermarket and carpark. There was a mascot out the front of the main doors, dancing in place, waving his arms in the air and trying to attract the attention of the children as they passed by with their families.

Genji made a beeline for the brown oversized creature with Hanzo just behind, his sigh audible.

The mascot turned out to be a tanuki selling chocolate hazelnut balls which had Genji in hysterics. Hanzo’s expression didn’t so much as twitch as Genji clutched at the tanuki’s arm, laughing until he cried. It was, he would admit, slightly overkill but it _was_ hilarious and having something to actually laugh about was something he’d clearly been missing. 

“Take a picture of us, Hanzo!” 

He wasn’t sure his brother was even going to oblige. Hanzo kept glancing around, as if Genji making a scene meant that the entire neighbourhood would judge them lower on some invisible social ranking. 

Genji was surprised when Hanzo did pull out his phone, lined up the shot and waited for Genji to make a peace sign with his fingers. 

“Are you done?” Hanzo asked, brows lowered in heavy disapproval. Genji gave his new buddy one last pat and snigger at the oversized ‘chocolate hazelnuts’, before letting himself be led inside. 

There was a intensity to Hanzo’s silence as Genji followed him up the aisles, trying not to be distracted by treats he hadn’t seen since his youth, packets with kanji so dense he could barely read it. It was slightly embarrassing that he’d let himself get this rusty with his own language but once he’d gotten to America, it had been paramount to put all his efforts into his then inferior English. 

Hanzo clearly knew his way around, a basket cradled in the crook of one arm as he grabbed this and that, placing them all down neatly. Genji felt like a child scampering along beside him, constantly veering away to check something out before hurrying his steps to catch up. 

“Are you mad?” Genji asked when they reached the frozen food section.

A muscle twitched in Hanzo’s jaw but he said nothing as he reached into the freezer and pulled out a packet of frozen gyoza. 

Genji couldn’t help but wonder when they’d gotten rid of the hired help. When their father had been alive and before Genji had left, they’d always had people to clean the house and do the grocery shopping. They were rich and important, which meant that they couldn’t been seen doing something so mundane as buying a vegetable. It had probably been their mother’s idea to start doing everything on their own. He was glad for it. 

“Not that brand.” Genji grabbed for the packet and was denied as Hanzo avoided his grasp and dumped it into the basket. He followed his brother as he turned away and accused, “you _are_ mad.”

“You were laughing,” Hanzo finally answered. Genji puzzled over the response and the only conclusion he could come up with was that him being happy somehow made Hanzo upset. The confusion must have shown on his face because Hanzo added a sour, “our mother just died.”

“I am aware,” Genji replied tartly. He shifted aside to allow an old woman with her shopping cart to get past. 

Hanzo did that thing where he pursed his lips and looked aside. He’d been doing that since Genji could remember. It set Genji’s nerves on edge, threatened to tip his hurt and annoyance into anger. 

“Oh, I get it,” Genji elongated the ‘I’ and rolled his eyes dramatically, putting on a show. “Would you like me to walk around wailing? Should I put on a black shroud? How long should I forgo happy emotions? What’s the consensus for how long I should remain in a constant state of mourning? Tell me, dear brother.”

Hanzo didn’t respond with words, he merely grimaced. His motions were sharp and awkward as he snatched up the packet of gyoza and tossed it at Genji’s chest, forcing his brother to catch it before it fell. “Pick a different type.”

Genji held the packet in his hands, felt the cold biting into his bare fingers. His anger fizzled out. “I’m making burgers tonight.” His voice dropped, petulant. “You said I could cook.”

“Then grab a basket and your ingredients, Genji,” Hanzo snapped back.

“You took a picture,” Genji accused instead. “If you’re so mad, why did you take a picture?”

They stared each other down, in the middle of the supermarket, other shoppers giving them wary glances as they walked by. Hanzo, to Genji’s surprise, gave in first. It didn’t feel like a win, not with the way his brother’s shoulders slumped and he turned away without an answer.

Genji remained where he was, watching after him - and then jumped into motion, back on his brother’s heels, dropping the gyoza back into the basket. “I guess this type isn’t so bad.”

He thought he saw the barest twitch of a sad smile.

\---

There was a tenseness to the rest of their shopping trip that Genji attempted to break with banter but it felt forced and came out awkwardly. Hanzo never responded with anything other than what was necessary to get them out of the store in a timely manner, his shoulders stiff and expression blank. 

It made the car ride home horribly uncomfortable and Genji was not surprised that as soon as they’d parked in the driveway, Hanzo was out of the car and walking inside, leaving the groceries for Genji to collect. Which he did, carrying them into the house and to the kitchen where he proceeded to place everything on the table and then stare at them, as if they would tell him where they were meant to go.

A few of the items were obvious; the frozen stuff went into the freezer and the vegetables into the fridge - but where exactly? Genji ended up moving the lettuce three times, uncertain if the spot he’d chosen was where Hanzo would want it. There was an orderliness to the kitchen, everything in its place and Genji was terrified that by putting something in the wrong spot would somehow destroy their relationship more certainly than anything else.

Eventually he put what needed to be kept cold away and ordered the rest neatly on the table, so that Hanzo could put them where he wanted them. 

Then he went to find his brother.

Genji found him in kneeling in front of the altar, shoulders hunched forward and hands pressed together in prayer. He almost left him there, hovered in the doorway until he fought off the urge to run and stepped into the room. Genji knelt beside him brother, heard the slight sigh from beside him and chose to wait it out. Incense smoke swirled lazily through the air. The urn with the ashes sat like another presence. His mother’s pictures stared at him, always smiling. She’d had the most beautiful smile.

“When are you returning to America?” 

The question came suddenly enough to cause Genji to startle. His hands flexed and gripped, nails biting into the skin of his palm as he answered, “I’m not.”

Hanzo sighed again, deeper this time. “You have to.” He sounded so tired. “You have a life there. You can’t just give that all up. You have to go.”

Genji wanted to look at his brother but feared what he might find on his face. So he stared at his hands instead, traced each knuckle with his eyes, inspected the small scar on his thumb. “I’ve made up my mind, Hanzo.” He wriggled his fingers. “And besides,” he added, tone light but full of self-deprecation, “it’s not like I haven’t done it before... leaving everything behind. I’m familiar with the process.”

That earned a snort. 

Genji finally glanced over, in time to see Hanzo rub at his face with both hands, his exhaustion so clear and his pain obvious in every single line.

“I am sorry... that I did not call you sooner. That you didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“I,” Genji started and then stopped. What could he say? I forgive you. Probably. But the wound was still there and while he would always forgive his brother, no matter what came to pass, it still hurt and he couldn’t let that go just yet. He’d been denied being able to farewell his mother, to hold her one last time and kiss her brow. Even if it had ultimately been Sayuri’s choice, that pain would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“It happened too quickly and yet so slowly. I was so scared the whole time and she was so strong,” Hanzo began, his tone heavy with sorrow. “The hospital took great care of her. Near the end, she was barely awake, there were so many drugs in her, keeping the pain at bay. She wasn’t really there anymore. She was already gone.”

Genji’s fingers were quivering and his next breath was swallowed down with a rattle, a hitch in his chest. His eyes burned.

“I miss her,” Hanzo said - and he broke. 

Hanzo collapsed in on himself, arms around his belly and forehead touching the floor. His shoulders shuddered and he wailed, a sound so full of grief that it made the hairs on the back of Genji’s neck stand up and caused the threatening tears to spill out, run unchecked down his cheeks. 

Genji desperately sought contact, curling an arm around his brother, practically laying on top of him. His other hand pushed underneath, to find Hanzo’s hands and grip them tight, fingers curling together. They cried, linked by their sorrow, a loved one taken too soon. The idea of ‘tomorrow I will see you, tomorrow I can hug you again, there is always a tomorrow’ utterly shattered. There would be no tomorrow for Sayuri and her sons. 

Genji had long since given up on religion but he hoped that his mother would be reborn somewhere anyway, to spread her light and love to others, to smile again in another form. 

\---

Hanzo pulled himself together slowly. He felt hot and his head was pounding. When he licked his lips, he realised his throat was parched. His hands, where they were holding Genji’s in a painful drip, were uncomfortably sweaty. His brother was an almost dead weight along his back. He didn’t mind. It was a comfort.

Death was not the end, he’d been reminded constantly by the Buddhist monk, the kindly old man that had previously farewelled Hanzo’s father. Sayuri would be reborn on her path to Nirvana. She had lived a good life, had been a compassionate and gentle woman, so surely her next life would treat her well. 

But that didn’t lessen the ache. It was selfish, perhaps but he already hated whatever family she might be born into because even if she wasn’t the same person, that was still his mother, that was her spirit. She should be here, with him, brightening his day, reminding him to eat dinner, tutting at him when he overworked himself. 

Alone.

He would be all alone now.

Except that he wasn’t.

Not yet.

“Be honest, Genji, if you plan on leaving,” his words were muffled and he turned his head slightly, forehead still pressed against the floor, “you need to leave now.”

Let him grieve the loss of his mother and brother both, let him grow accustomed to his lonely future. The longer Genji stayed before going, the more it would hurt to lose him once more. He wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Genji shifted slightly above him and the kiss to the back of his neck, where the skin was revealed by the fall of his hair, felt soft and tender. His brother’s voice was husky from crying. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	5. one step forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so small, i'm sorry but important discussions happen so...? 
> 
> as always, i hope you like it!

They parted slowly, unwillingly. It was a comfort neither of them wanted to relinquish but Genji’s promise was still a certainty and so they slipped apart. They rose together, stood side by side, quietly lingering in the moment.

Both tender, wounds newly healed, the skin still fragile. A shared moment of grief had helped a long way to repairing what had been broken between them but Genji could feel how delicate their emotions were. He was afraid to reach out, in case the gesture was too much, too soon. 

It was Hanzo who closed the gap again, reached out to squeeze Genji’s shoulder, a brotherly, companionable gesture, a thank you without saying the words. If the touch held longer than expected, Genji didn’t comment. He would let Hanzo set the terms. They would need to be comfortable as brother’s again before they could ever be lovers. 

Genji wouldn’t settle for what they’d been in their youth. It had always been frantic, hiding in dark rooms, fumbling, stifled moans, desperation. Hanzo had never stuck around afterwards. His expression would close down, all the love and need snuffed out, buried deep. Genji had felt lonely every single time and had sought attention elsewhere to try soothe it and to punish his brother. It had been a vicious circle. 

Not now. 

Not this time.

This time it would all be different. 

\---

Genji burnt the burger patties. It wasn’t intentional and he wanted to blame the frying pan for heating up quicker than he was used to but he knew the real culprit was sitting at the kitchen table, innocently reading the news on his tablet. 

They’d spent the rest of the day apart, retreating and giving each other space, only coming together as Genji began his ill-fated foray into cooking dinner.

Genji didn’t even realize anything was going wrong until Hanzo lifted his head, sniffed and said, ‘something is burning’.

“Eh?” Genji responded, a fine display of eloquence. He was busy cutting lettuce in a position that conveniently let him watch Hanzo - enthralled by something as simple as the quirk of an eyebrow or the beginning of a frown as his brother reacted to what he was reading - but had the downside of putting his back to the thing he should have been keeping an eye on instead. 

Hanzo’s brow furrowed with annoyance. “ _Genji_.” That single name was laden with brotherly exhaustion. 

“Right, yeah, burning.” 

Genji hurried over to turn the patties, tried with his fingers first and paid for it. He hissed in pain and stuck the burnt fingertips in his mouth, then used his left hand instead, this time with the spatula, to turn the patties and reveal their blackened side. Delicious. 

It hadn’t even taken him a week to betray his complete inability to cook anything.

Clearly taking this as his cue to inspect Genji’s work so far, Hanzo put the tablet aside and started looking through the cut tomatoes. He plucked up a particularly rough and uneven piece, held it between thumb and forefingers, presenting it for Genji to see his shoddy work. 

“This is terrible.”

Genji turned down the heat on the pain and replied around the fingers still in his mouth, “I know.” The words clearly weren’t meant as an attack but it was a struggle not to take it the wrong way, an unforgivable failure. 

Hanzo approached, pushed in alongside him, intimately close. Genji failed to suppress the shiver the contact created. Hanzo manhandled him towards the sink with the press of his hip and his fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth and under cold water.

Then he left him there, moving back to the stove and turning off the heat. Hanzo put the blackened patties in their pan to the side, to cool down and be discarded. “I am not eating those.”

“I don’t cook much,” Genji admitted in explanation, fingers flexing beneath the running water. The burgers looked sad in their pan. 

“Then why did you ask to cook?”

“I just wanted to be useful and I thought burgers would be easy. Jesse always-” he cut himself off mid-sentence, back teeth grinding down and his throat swallowing tightly. Genji hoped it hadn’t been obvious but of course it had been. Hanzo’s whole body jerked, head coming up like a hound with a scent.

So Genji kept talking, before his brother could catch the quarry he had scented, hoping to distract him. “I’m lucky, I guess. I always end up around people who are happy to feed me, and you know, cup ramen isn’t all that bad. You get used to it. Just add some meat and veg and you have a decent meal.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. He studied Genji with that pinched mouth of disapproval and Genji waited for the question to drop. It never came. Instead Hanzo announced, “I will make a stir fry.”

“Sure,” Genji smiled with his relief. A bullet dodged. “What should we do with the lettuce and tomato?”

“It will do for a salad. Put it in a bowl and make a dressing.”

“Okay.” Genji turned off the tap and flicked water off his hand, immediately felt the return of the burn but at least the pain was dampened.

It took him three tries to find the cupboard with the large bowls, his movement around the kitchen glacial compared to Hanzo’s quick bustle. It didn’t make sense to Genji that the large bowls were not in the vicinity of the small bowls and he kept returning to the same section, as if they would magically appear where he thought they should be. 

By the time Genji had the lettuce and tomato together, Hanzo was already halfway through chopping up all his vegetables. 

“I guess mum taught you how to cook?” The words croaked out, left his mouth before he’d had time to consider them and he felt an instant regret, uncertain how slippery the mention of their mother would make the ground of their relationship.

But Hanzo only paused for a moment, the knife held rigid in midair. “Yes.” Then it descended, returned to its duty, the dull ‘chop, chop, chop’ filling the room.

Genji cleared his throat. “What do I put in the dressing?”

The knife was placed down, the sound too sharp, almost angry. “Vinegar, sesame oil, a squeeze of lime.” As Hanzo rattled off each item, he was grabbing them and putting them down in a row in front of Genji. The last one joined the line and Hanzo asked tartly, “would you like me to make the dressing as well?”

“No, I can do it.” Genji used his forearm to sweep the items into the protective bundle away from Hanzo’s meddling. “This is easy.”

\---

They didn’t eat the salad. Genji had put too much vinegar into the dressing and it was practically inedible. 

At least Hanzo’s stir-fry was good. 

Of course it was. 

But Genji only got halfway through his bowl before Hanzo asked, “who is Jesse?”

Genji nearly choked on a noodle. It brought him time, playing up his coughing fit, to consider his options. The truth, the partial truth, redirection or a lie. He didn’t want to keep anything from his brother but what they were building was so fragile, Genji was afraid to shatter it with a wrong answer.

Of course his mental gymnastics weren’t nearly fast enough. His silence was damning. His evasion obvious. Hanzo was watching him expectantly. If Genji lied now, Hanzo would know it. If he tried to change the subject, Hanzo would realize it immediately. 

Which left...

“Jesse is my roommate.” He hesitantly hedged his bets on partial truth, rolled his shoulders back nonchalantly for extra effect .”We’re good friends.” 

Hanzo looked back at him calmly; seemed to see right through the attempt. “Man or woman?”

Genji forced a grin and felt stupid. “He is a he.”

Hanzo made a contemplative sound. “How long have you been dating?”

Genji’s stomach knotted up. Surely that was just a shot in the dark. He should laugh it off, deny. But that wasn’t how he wanted them to be. Anything he held back now would only come back to hurt them later.

“Three years,” he admitted, dropping the grin, the facade. “Three fucking years.” Good years, as well. Jesse had always been a comfort. Big and warm, easygoing in a way his brother had never been. 

Hanzo looked calm but Genji saw the way he swallowed, the bob of his throat. “Do you love him?” The question was like a knife in Genji’s belly. 

Genji thought of that shaggy face beneath his hands, the broad smile that was all-encompassing, the easy forgiveness of all of his faults. “Yeah, I do love him.” He watched as Hanzo eyes drooped at the admission, the edges pinched with sadness, and added, “but not enough.”

He’d never been able to give everything to Jesse McCree. There had always been a part of his heart, a large chunk that belonged to someone else. Jesse had known it as well, seen it in Genji’s hesitation to commit. They’d been friends for a long time, then lovers for even longer before Genji had let them put a label on it. Jesse had stuck around anyway.

Hanzo licked his lips. “Is it that easy for you?” He asked, unrelenting cruelty, mouth pinched with regret. “Leaving people behind.”

Genji flinched at the question, avoided his brother's gaze and stared at his bowl of stirfry as his stomach churned. He probably deserved to be dragged over the coals like this but it wasn’t a good feeling.

He wasn’t sure if this was unravelling all the progress they had made or if they’d never gotten anywhere at all. 

“Do you think I’m heartless?” He asked with a sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“Sometimes,” Hanzo answered, no hesitation. 

“It _wasn’t_ easy.” Genji leaned back in his seat, stared at the tabletop as he spoke. “That is, leaving you,” he clarified, as if it hadn't been obvious. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Something I never want to do ever again.” Compared to that feeling, the body-shaking agony of stepping onto a plane and abandoning everything he’d ever known and loved, leaving Jesse was nothing at all. If anything he felt a terrible sense of relief. He wasn’t holding Jesse back anymore, trapped by a love that wasn’t fully returned.

It hurt, yes but his focus was selfishly here now. The loss of Jesse and ten years of his life was a small ache, when compared to the chasm of emotion that Hanzo was responsible for. 

Hanzo made a small sound, a pained huff of breath, feeling expelled into the air. “I kept expecting you to come back.”

That pulled a harsh bark of laughter from Genji unbidden. “I kept expecting you to follow me.”

It just hadn’t been the right time for them. Maybe it wasn’t the right time now either but there was at least a chance. Still, Genji couldn’t help but wonder what their life would have been like if he had returned earlier.

The clink of Hanzo’s chopsticks as he placed them on top of his bowl seemed far too loud in the quiet kitchen. Genji finally looked at his brother properly, the rigid set of his jaw, new lines marked by sorrow, tired darkness beneath his eyes, and a surge of fondness rushed through him. 

Hanzo met his gaze calmly.

Time stretched between them, old and new colliding, their relationship reshaping itself constantly with each word spoken. 

“You are here now.”

“I am,” Genji promised.

Hanzo nodded, an absentminded affirmation for himself as he rose from the table. “Good.” There it was, a matter settled. There would be no further need to discuss whether Genji was staying or going. He was here. This was their life now.

The urge to kiss his brother arrived as a sudden kick in the gut. It nearly propelled him across the table, to beg for a single kiss, a touch, a fond glance, anything. Desire burned red-hot through him, rising up from his core, as if it had somehow been given permission to escape the cage in which Genji had trapped it.

He sat rigidly in his seat, unable to move. His gaze locked onto Hanzo’s lips, soft lips, plush. They would always redden so nicely when kissed. Someone had once told Hanzo he had girl lips, far too pretty for a man. Hanzo had threatened to grow a beard and Genji had forbidden it. Back then he’d preferred smooth skin. Now he would be delighted to rub his face against his brother’s neat beard until it left marks on his skin.

The lips moved, formed beautiful shapes, made him hungrier.

“Genji,” they said, “are you finished?” 

Lips flattened, unhappy. 

It was enough to knock Genji back to earth, make him fidget uncomfortably in his seat. So obvious. “What? Finished what?” He tried for innocence. 

“Your bowl, Genji, are you finished?”

_Oh._

“I- yes.”

Hanzo regarded him with a thoughtful hooded gaze as he collected the dishes. Genji longed to reach out. His fingers twitched but he restrained himself.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announced, too loudly, leaving Hanzo to clean up, exiting the room faster than necessary. His arousal must been obvious but Hanzo said nothing as he left, just turned away to his task.

Genji jerked himself off in the shower. It took only four quick pumps of his hand before he came, grunting out his brother’s name, his forehead pressed against the tiled wall and the water running hot down his back. It felt hollow and pointless, hardly a relief at all.


	6. two steps back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how the saying goes.
> 
>   _One step forward, two steps back._

Hanzo was running.

Sweat collecting on his brow and dripping from his chin, muscles burning with fatigue. But he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. The treadmill beeped another ten minute timer but he ignored it and powered on. His thoughts turned inwards, blocking out the pain, driving him on past his body demanding to stop and rest. 

Hanzo had woken early that morning, pulled on his well-used work out clothes and made his way to the gym before the sun had even properly risen. He’d been hoping to exhaust his mind with exercise, burn away the excess energy that had kept him awake all night.

It wasn’t working. 

Despite the huffing and puffing, the burning lungs and limbs starting to cramp, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Genji. 

Genji with a flush on his cheeks, pupils blown wide, his eyes filled with a lust nothing could hide.

Even with Genji exiting the kitchen in a rush, Hanzo had seen it; like a beast on alert to any movement, identifying his brother’s desire was second nature, unavoidable. Despite himself, his brother’s longing had stirred his own need. Later in bed he’d lain away and had stalwartly refused to touch himself, his fingers twitching against the sheets. 

Now the treadmill was the perfect metaphor; running and going nowhere. Desire still prickled under his skin, leaving him frustrated and angry, his thoughts circling around, returning to the same moment over and over again. It was maddening. 

Over the many years of Genji’s absence, Hanzo had taken lovers. He had deluded himself during nights of passion, lost himself in warm bodies. Desperately trying to forget what was gone from his life. 

He never let anyone get very close, consciously and subconsciously he kept them at an emotional distance. It was paramount that they remain separate from his _real_ life and so he offered them nothing but his body. They were the sordid darkness, to be kept hidden, secret.

Of course, he wasn’t made of stone and every now and then one of them started to get under his skin. When their warm smile cut through his loneliness and he was grateful to be curled around them in the dark, Hanzo knew he had to cut them loose. And he did so, every time. As if they were nothing.

In a way, they really were nothing. 

His mother, his family, he had always used them as an excuse to justify his actions. His lovers, his sexuality, it was all a shameful secret covering up an even more shameful secret - the love of his brother.

A brother long fled, his memory an open wound.

Sometimes it was as if Genji had ruined him for everyone else.

And sometimes Hanzo wanted to thank him for that. Because of his brother, he had never fallen in love, never found the strength or desire to embrace who he was and defy social expectations. He’d been able to remain in the proverbial closet, safe.

Genji had broken Hanzo by leaving and in doing so he had made his life both easier and harder at the same time.

The moment he brother had stepped on that plane, Hanzo had felt as though he had lost some integral part of his being. 

And now Genji was back. 

Hanzo finally stopped the treadmill and moved his feet to either side as it slowed, head bowed and forehead dripping sweat as he panted. He watched the first few drops, and when he straightened, was surprised to find a dry towel waiting for him, held out in offering.

“Thank you.” Hanzo’s tone was brisk as he accepted the towel, his response still managing to earn a grin from the younger man that had approached his side unnoticed. Hanzo looked away, expression set with an unwelcoming downturn of his lips. 

It was not the deterrent he’d expected. 

“Really working it today. You put the rest of us to shame.”

Friendly and informal; one of the many pretty faces that came to gym regularly to tone their bodies and make themselves beautiful. They were a different breed to the men Hanzo had grown up around and he had yet to get used to their easy companionship, the way they flaunted their true selves as if they weren’t a complete shame to their families. 

Or maybe they aren’t that at all, a voice muttered in the back of his mind, maybe their family didn’t even care as long as they were happy. Ridiculous.

Hanzo gave a noncommittal hum and used the towel to wipe the sweat away. His heart was galloping in his chest, slowly coming down from his high. Definitely the work out and not the way the other man was giving appreciable glances at Hanzo’s arms, gaze running along the dragon tattoo like a physical touch. 

There was a brief sense of accomplishment. That even closing in on forty, he was still desireable. 

That thought was almost immediately followed by sudden burst of terror that set his heart at a frantic pace all over again. Were his proclivities that obvious that someone would approach him so brazenly? He’d never thought so. Surely nobody would be able to point at him and say without doubt that he preferred sleeping with men. It was a shot in the dark. 

Without a word, Hanzo stepped off the treadmill and the handed the towel back, avoiding brushing fingers by a whisker. “Thank you,’ he said again, before he took a swig out of his water bottle. Out of the corner of his eye he was certain he saw the other man watching the motion of his throat.

“We should work out together sometime,” the man suggested. “I’m sure you could give me a few pointers.” He sounded so hopeful, so eager. 

There was a offering written between the lines.

Despite his fears, it was almost tempting. A quick fix to the disquieting lust that was currently living beneath his skin.

Almost.

“I don’t think so.”

Hanzo left the man there, turned away quickly so he wouldn’t have to see the last expression on his face as the curt refusal landed. 

There was nobody else at the showers and he stepped into an empty stall, stripping off the sweat soaked clothes and stuffing them into a plastic bag. He set the temperature high, let it run over his back and head. As he stood there, his thoughts turned to Genji. Of course they did. Where else would they go? Certainly not to the man with his unspoken proposition. 

Hanzo had brought his own soap and he lathered it into his hands as he mind strayed.

Even though Genji was doing an admirable job of denying his impulses, Hanzo could see the struggle. The hesitation, the worry, the uncertainty on where to step on the minefield that was their relationship. It was an awkward dance, too many steps, trying not to stumble. They were doing better but with that came only more problems.

Hanzo had accepted Genji back into his life, embraced the idea of him as a constant. The extra trouble began there, for surely they couldn’t continue learning to live with each other as just brothers, not when the attraction between them was an all-encompassing force.

Brother and lover. Was it even possible to take one without the other? The line had been crossed a long time ago. There was no going back. How long would they be able to live together before one or the other broke? They both knew what it felt like to become one, they knew each moan and sigh, each sensitive patch of skin. Even after ten years, Hanzo remembered it in vivid detail. 

Last night Hanzo had been sure he would be the first to crack. It would have been so easy to walk down the hall to Genji’s room. His brother would welcome him, hold him close. It would have been so easy. 

The truth was they _couldn't_ exist together as just brothers and Hanzo felt sick with that knowledge. He was also tired. Tired of pretending, tired of denying himself the things he wanted. Tired of so many things. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t exhausted. 

He turned the shower off and dressed in his spare clothes. When he left the gym, he walked past the man who had spoken to him. He received a wistful glance and a shrug that he interpreted as ‘oh well’. Hanzo didn’t smile back, he couldn’t work up the effort and he was still walking, out the door and onto the busy sidewalk.

Hanzo drove home slowly, passing through the familiar streets of Hanamura to reach his house, their house. 

They would be living together side by side from now on. His brother, home, _finally_. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel with restless anticipation. The idea had barely even fully formed but his body knew what it wanted. It was craving and though he almost didn’t dare say it even in the privacy of his own mind, he was ready to stop denying it.

Genji was probably still sleeping and surely wouldn’t mind a wake up call. It didn’t have to be much. Just something warm, something comforting, something to settle the ache in his breast. 

It was wrong, he knew that but Hanzo was so very tired of trying to be the perfect son. There was nobody left to impress. 

The house appeared, beckoned him in and he pulled into the drive. His mouth was dry as he stepped from the car and approached the door at a brisk walk, not giving himself time to reconsider. 

It was okay.

He was allowed to have this.

His hands shook slightly as they turned the key in the lock, his mind jumping ahead to what could be, to what would be, when he walked up the steps and - oh. Voices stopped him in his tracks; a high pitched male laugh that wasn’t Genji’s. A glance down showed an unknown pair of shoes by the entrance. 

Hanzo followed the laughter to the kitchen, halted in the doorway as his heart plummeted down to his guts and the urge to vomit rose up as bile in his throat. 

There was a stranger sitting at his kitchen table, still grinning from whatever no doubt hilarious thing Genji must have been saying, a cup of tea in his hands, relaxed and at ease. Young, good looking, a dusting of stubble on his upper lip.

Hanzo hated him in an instant, was consumed by a loathing so powerful he nearly staggered with it. He didn’t know him, not in the slightest but his mere presence near his brother was enough to make the dragon curl back his lips in a snarl. 

And Genji, dear Genji, leaning his hip against the table, arms crossed, wearing that charming smile that had wooed so many to his bed before.

Horrifying in its familiarity, Hanzo was reminded of all those many years ago; Genji flaunting someone new on his arm, defying the family, embracing his sexual deviancy. Their father had taken it as a personal attack on the Shimada name and it was, but only in part. Only Hanzo knew its true purpose.

It was designed it play on his jealousies, make him angry enough to break his last vow of ‘never again’. Spite, longing, jealousy. Genji had always known just how to get what he wanted. His ploy - so obvious - had always worked but it had also bred resentment, a resentment that Hanzo had nursed for many long years. 

It was happening all over again. How foolish to think that they could ever really change, Years had gone by and they were still the same. Broken in all the same ways.

He could feel that resentment, an old and most hated friend, mingling with his baffled hurt and spreading like cold fire. It wanted to consume and he let it, drowning out the soft voice that suggested his knee-jerk reaction was wrong, that he shouldn’t assume. 

Hanzo had _wanted_.

And here Genji was playing the same games.

Hanzo wasn’t going back to that.

Not this time. 

\---

Akiyama Kaito seemed like a nice enough guy. 

They’d met outside. Genji, not a morning person in the slightest, staring blearily down the road as if expecting Hanzo to appear from whatever mysterious outing he’d left on, and instead spying his neighbour collecting the mail. After a nod of acknowledgment at each other, Kaito had wandered over and introduced himself. Just moved back home from Tokyo after finishing university and was deciding on his next step. It had seemed natural to invite him in for a cup of tea. 

So they talked, about silly things, bantering back and forth. Upon hearing he’d been living in America until recently, Kaito peppering him with constant questions of what it was like overseas. It was making him a little bit nostalgic and eager to change the subject to something that didn’t remind him of the place, or more precisely, the people, he’d left behind. 

When Genji heard the front door, his mood instantly soared. Hanzo was home. 

His brother appeared in the doorway and the bubbling pleasure that Genji felt from simply seeing him, like a delighted puppy wagging its tail, was washed aside in an instant. Hanzo looked shattered. His brother had gone pale, his gaze darting from Kaito to Genji and back again. 

He watched with dawning horror, as Hanzo’s expression shifted into bright eyed anger. The look he shot Genji screamed _betrayal_ louder than words. 

Genji wasn’t confused for an instant; the knowledge rose up sharply, unbidden, horrifyingly instinctive, at seeing the expression he’d once gone to great pains to place on his brother’s face. It wasn’t the case now but even so, he recognised it instantly. 

The sudden rush of needless guilt made his cheeks flush. 

The past had come back to haunt them again.

It wasn’t fair.

Words rose up, denials, catching in his throat, and he wasn’t leaning against the table anymore, he was moving, nearly stumbling to get to Hanzo. No, no, no, it’s not what it looks like. Please believe me. 

Kaito looked on in confusion at the sudden shift of mood.

And Hanzo was turning away, back stiff and hands clenched. Dismissing Genji without a word spoken.

“Hanzo!” He finally got the name out, a desperate whine. The rest of what he wanted to say was tangled on his tongue. He was embarrassed by his immediate reaction, knew it made him look guilty but couldn’t seem to calm down enough to approach the situation with anything but panic. To be _that_ brother again, another wrong when they were trying to make things right, he couldn’t handle it.

His feet carried him closer and Hanzo reacted to the intrusion, turning, looking, a sudden seething, dominating presence. Genji halted his progress, rocked back on his heels, taken aback by the venom in Hanzo’s voice as he stressed out each word, “get him out of my house.” 

In response, Genji reached out to grab Hanzo’s arm, as if a physical touch would return them to the sensible here and now, instead of the distant past they were reliving. Hanzo recoiled. Genji blanched.

“It isn’t what you think!” He managed to protest, determined to try again but was Hanzo out of reach, rapidly retreating towards the stairs, a figure with his shoulders set, going, going, gone. “You can’t... stop, Hanzo! Wait!”

His pleas went unheeded.

Ridiculous.

He wanted to cry from sheer frustration.

He hadn’t done anything wrong but it felt as though he had. Somehow this was his fault. It always was. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair.

“Is everything okay?” Kaito hesitantly asked behind him. Genji had almost forgotten he was even there and he turned his frustration on him without thinking, glad to have someone to focus his anger on. He regretted it instantly but fed into it anyway. “Why are you still here? Out! Get the fuck out!” 

To his credit, Kaito didn’t look dismayed by the outburst unfairly directed at him, reacting to it as calmly as Genji wished he could have to Hanzo. “I am going but if you need somewhere to stay for a bit, you can come over.” The gentle offer from a near stranger almost broke Genji then and there but he held his tears back with some rapid breaths and the shake of his head. He pointed at the doorway instead. 

Kaito left.

Genji felt like a child; a foolish, idiot child. His emotions were too out of control, his reactions unthinking and impulsive. If he could have just dealt with it calmly, like an adult. Instead he could hardly find the words to protest Hanzo’s assumption. If that’s even what it had been, but of course, he didn’t doubt that instinct in the slightest.

And Hanzo _had_ been jealous, and some dark part of Genji, some cruel little twisted part that had never grown up, had been glad to see it. 

Eventually he laughed instead of cried, hands on his knees and head bent forward. Sour, mirthless laughter bubbled up from deep in his gut. 

They were a mess. 

Nothing would ever turn out right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this took a while and I'm sure of you know that I've had a hard time getting back into writing. I'm still not quite there yet but at least I'm producing something and hopefully the next chapter will come easier. I just want to thank everyone who has sent me messages of support and let me know the still love the story. Thank you for you patience! I hope you're still reading and enjoy this family drama with these complicated boys. Much love to you all! :)


	7. wanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A new chapter so soon? Gasp! Tags have been updated, so check those out if you want! Or don't, if you prefer to be pleasantly surprised.

He sat in the near dark of his office with the blinds pulled down; the sun was barely managing to spill through the sides, creating a soft glow that illuminated nothing. The couch was soft beneath him, and in juxtaposition, the hands in his hair too rough, gripping tightly at large chunks, providing an anchoring pain. As he sat, Hanzo let the memory of what had just occurred play through his mind, over and over again, certain moments highlighted with increasing dismay. Still raw, still painful, his heart felt all the more panicked and hollow with each repetition. 

The anger had faded almost as soon as he’d gotten upstairs, leaving regret in its place to fester and burn.

If nothing else would destroy his relationship with Genji, this would be it. That lingering resentment that would always be waiting to strangle them both. Jealousy too, simply from seeing his brother smile at someone else. It was easy to put aside a relationship across the sea, even one that had lasted as long as it had, but another man, in his kitchen, with his Genji. It made him sick.

He had been so ready embrace his brother, finally accept everything he had offered, only for it to fall apart within seconds.

He could still hear his brother’s voice, his desperate protests. His expression had been one of horror, his reaction so acutely unlike the Genji of old that Hanzo knew he’d been mistaken. Of course it wasn’t what he’d thought. It had been foolish of him, cruel of him, to make that presumption. Those old wounds again, never completely healed, so easy to break them open. 

It was unfair to Genji. Genji had been trying so hard. He’d been _so good_. All Hanzo could manage to do was hurt him. Useless, pathetic, a stain upon his family, worthless. 

Worthless.

_Worthless._

You don’t deserve to - 

His thoughts were interrupted, startling him from his downward spiral, by a knock at his door.

He said nothing.

The door opened anyway.

The light turned on.

Hanzo kept his eyes closed, head bowed, elbows on his knees. 

He was simultaneously both desperate for his brother to comfort him and desperate to be left alone to wallow on the misery that he deserved. The warring desires left him unable to even move or glance up, unable to ask for one or the other. 

Genji’s presence was the soft swish of clothing, his sighing breaths, the tentative touch of his hands when he reached Hanzo. His fingers wound through Hanzo’s, eased them away from his hair. Pulled forward until they were united pressed between Genji’s trembling hands. And Hanzo was grateful, painfully so. 

“I promise I wasn’t-” 

“I know,” Hanzo interrupted.

“He-”

“You don’t need to explain, Genji.” The words wanted to lodge in his throat but he forced them out. “I... overreacted.” 

There was a moment’s considering silence.

“I know why. I remember.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Genji’s grip tightened on his hands almost painfully. “Don’t you get it? Look at me Hanzo.” Hanzo did as asked and looked up into Genji’s wide, earnest eyes. Holding that gaze was one of the hardest thing he had ever done. “We're still living in that long time ago. We haven’t gotten past it. Everything that hurt us then, it’s still hurting us.”

It was true.

And it was the reason why they had to give up now, before there was too much pain, destroying what little they had left. But Genji wasn’t done speaking yet and Hanzo didn’t have the heart to try stop him. 

“We know that now. We can see it and we can work through it.”

“Genji-” Hanzo tried to protest but his brother, his beautiful, understanding brother, with his soft voice and gentle eyes, cut him off.

“I’m not giving up.”

It was spoken so surely, so firmly that it forced Hanzo to take a moment, to reconsider his defeat. Again, his heart said, try again. Here was the man his little brother had become, wise and determined, as wilful as ever but with experience to back it up. But some things never changed, like the resolute look in his eyes that had been there that day Genji had said, ‘I’m leaving’. Now the words were different, now they caused joy instead of pain.

Genji wet his lips, a hint of anxiety as he asked into Hanzo’s silence, “will you give up on us?”

Hanzo leaned back, felt some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. “No,” he answered. 

The response was instant, tears of relief blossomed in the corners of Genji’s eyes. His smile quick and warm, his lips soft as he kissed at Hanzo’s hands entwined within his own.

“Thank you,” Genji breathed the words onto Hanzo’s skin and Hanzo wanted to correct him, tell him that it should be the other way around, it was Hanzo that should be saying it. Instead he freed one hand to cup Genji’s cheek, pressing his thumb gently into his lower lip. 

Genji turned his head to kiss his palm, lashes lowering, cheeks bright. 

Heat flushed across his body, pooled in his belly, urgent. 

His sharp inhale was an invitation. His legs spread, offering, and without hesitation Genji surged up into him, a weight first on his knees and then in his lap, settling uncomfortably but welcome all the same. Their kiss bruising, too many teeth, limbs askew, fingers curling and groping.

Hanzo slowed them with a great effort, burying his face in Genji’s neck and panting, his arms wrapped around his brother like a vice. He could feel the beating of Genji’s heart, the demanding ‘thump, thump, thump’. 

“Slowly,” he urged into quivering skin and Genji nodded.

They didn’t have to rush. 

There was nobody to stop them, to walk in or interrupt. They could spend all day if they wanted, indulging their desires; and that was exactly what Hanzo planned to do. Any fears and reservations would be pushed aside. Later they could talk it through, properly. Later they could agonize and break apart. 

Now they could take their time. 

Which sounded good in theory but it had been a very long time and Genji was an insistent presence, rocking his hips as his hands roamed, sliding underneath Hanzo’s clothing and leaving his skin feeling electric. His desperation was palpable, his need obvious with each panting breath.

Hanzo’s tugged at Genji’s collar, baring more skin that he can could suck on and sink his teeth into. Claim him. His thoughts spiralled back to the man in the kitchen, to Jesse across the sea, to every single other person that Genji had ever let touch him or be near him. He wanted to bite until there was blood and his touch wiped away all that had been before. 

“I only want you,” Genji murmured as if reading his thoughts and Hanzo’s hips bucked involuntarily. Genji huffed out a breath and moved into the motion, encouraging with the roll of his hips, setting up a sloppy rhythm. Hanzo could feel him shaking, every inch of him quivering.

“I don’t want to be slow,” Genji whined childishly, fingers like claws in Hanzo’s shoulders, still rutting steadily, and Hanzo grunted in agreement.

“How much?” He asked - how much what? How much do you want from me? What will satisfy you? Hanzo wasn’t sure how to answer that himself. He wanted to bury himself deep in his brother, he wanted to fuck into that pretty mouth, he wanted to to wrap his hands around both of them and look Genji in the eyes as he came, he simply _wanted_. 

Genji understood. “Everything.”

Well that certainly narrows it down, Hanzo wanted to say but Genji had reached down between them, fingers sliding beneath his waistband and lower to find proof of Hanzo’s arousal. His grip was an awkward one, wrist twisted as he squeezed Hanzo gently, getting reacquainted with an old friend.

Hanzo groaned low, hands coming to rest on Genji’s hips, gripping tightly.

With an impatient sound, Genji wriggled back slightly and used his other hand to pull Hanzo’s pants down, revealing his cock in Genji’s grip, the tip purple-red. He tugged the waistband beneath his balls where it pinched the skin. 

As Genji inspected the view, Hanzo studied his face. He marvelled at the utter concentration on Genji’s face, felt the pressure in his gut increase not just from how Genji was holding him but from the way his brother bit his plush lower lip and then swiped his tongue across it. The flush on his cheeks and the way his eyes sparkled. This was how he looked when he was deciding just what he wanted to do with a new toy. 

Genji’s gaze lifted to meet his, one eyebrow quirking, lips parting to let out a delighted sigh, “we’re going to need lube.”

“Bottom drawer,” Hanzo grunted.

He felt Genji’s loss keenly as his brother slid off his lap and walked quickly to the desk but he used the time to shuck off his pants entirely and tug his top off, tossing both aside. Genji also undressed, and Hanzo only had a moment to admire his back, the green dragon tattoo that stretched between his shoulder blades, before his brother was turning back to him.

Watching Genji approach, naked and beautiful, dick jutting out from between a nest of dark hairs, made Hanzo’s entire body ache. His chest felt tight, as if someone was squeezing his heart. He reached out and Genji melted into him.

\---

Hanzo wasn’t overly large but he had girth and it took time for Genji to adjust, the full stretch a welcome sensation. His brother was laid out length-ways on the couch, his bulky chest heaving and Genji couldn’t help but marvel. Where Genji had let most of his muscled physique go, an American diet of burgers and fries only kept at bat by a healthy obsession with sport and sex, Hanzo had clearly kept up all the training from his youth. His shoulders and chest were massive his abdomen a work of art, the muscles quivering every time Genji shifted.

His leg, caught between couch and Hanzo’s thigh, was already starting to cramp. He flexed his muscles and ignored it, pressing himself deeper instead until he was sitting completely on Hanzo’s lap, as far as they could go. Hanzo’s hands gripped at his thighs, hard enough it was probably bruising. His brother’s eyes had gone glassy, eyelids lowered, breathing laboured. 

Genji couldn’t help but wonder if Hanzo would regret this later. Here he was sitting on his brother’s dick and he was still afraid of refusal, of being turned aside. It could be written off as another moment of weakness. If that was the case, he would have to make sure Hanzo could never deny this, that he could not make it lesser with his fears and doubts.

He leaned forward, splayed his hands on Hanzo’s chest, felt the sweat-slicked skin beneath his palms. “Hanzo,” his croaked, licked his lips and tried again. “Brother?” Hanzo’s gaze slowly rose to his face, dragging away from where they were so intimately pressed together. “You should touch me.”

Hanzo nodded as if in a dream, one hand peeling away from Genji’s hip to wrap around his cock in a grip that was far too soft and tender for Genji’s liking. His thumb brushed the tip, fingers trailed down, following a vein, explored as if memorizing each inch. It was maddening.

“Genji,” Hanzo began, just as Genji was about to complain, “if you don’t start moving, I will roll us off the couch and fuck you properly.”

Genji quivered and nearly begged his brother to do just that but he was enjoying his view from the top and so he began to move, fucking himself up and down with increasing vigour. Their climb towards orgasm was a swift one. Genji kept the pace up and Hanzo rolled his hips to meet him, one hand still leaving bruises and the other jerking Genji off with matching pumps of his fist. There was no space to linger, no slow and steady now, just the mindless need to come. Their gaze locked together, watching as they both raced to the edge. 

_So long, so long, I’ve needed this, Hanzo, my darling._

Hanzo was first; his head rolled back, a low, guttural grunt escaping when he’d otherwise barely made a sound. Genji was always the loud one, filling the room with whines and gasps, and ‘aah, aah, aah’s’. He felt the extra rush of heat, the pressure, knew Hanzo had spilled inside, marking him deep. That knowledge tipped him over, his whole body locking up, everything so intensely sensitive as his cock pulsed and jerked in Hanzo’s waiting hand.

“I love you, Hanzo, I love you,” Genji gasped, tipping forward, seeking his brother’s throat, his face, his lips. He peppered kisses wherever he could, waiting to hear his feelings echoed. Hanzo groaned loudly, his hand finally peeling away from Genji’s hip to crush him close, heat and stickiness between them, the air heavy with words left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were gonna get here eventually... and I was in the mood to write some smut.
> 
> Still with the feels tho. ;D
> 
> I seem to be back on track and hopefully it stays that way. Thank you to those who left lovely comments of support!


	8. fragile

They never spoke about it.

Time marched on and their life moved with it. Hanzo refused to define their relationship and acted distant and awkward while they were out in public. Sometimes Genji wanted to mock him for it (‘do you think they can smell the incest on us, brother?’) but he held his tongue. Not that it mattered, as Hanzo returned to work a few days after they’d made love (Genji refused to call it anything else) and his long hours meant they spent most of their days apart.

He’d offered a job to Genji, some easy money payroll position but Genji had refused.

Despite whatever was going on in Hanzo’s head, they slept in the same bed at night, every night. Hanzo would start off on his back but it rarely took long for him to roll over and wrap his arms around Genji, his hold tight and fearful, as if he was afraid Genji was going to get up and leave in the middle of the night.

They had sex most days. Hanzo rarely rebuffed Genji’s advances, and it was usually Genji as the instigator, no matter where in the house they happened to be. Genji’s personal favourite was the sudden blowjob on the stairs, where Hanzo had nearly tumbled over the railing as he came on Genji’s face, his cum sputtering hot across his cheeks and mouth. 

Genji filled his days as best he could, with job hunting, cleaning and shopping. Every morning Hanzo left him some money on the table, a generous daily allowance. It was like being a housewife that couldn’t cook and had no friends. Days dragged, he wondered if he was happy, if Hanzo was happy. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? They were together. They were having sex. They were in love. At least Genji was in love. 

Jesse kept sending him messages.

He replied to all of them while guilt gnawed at his gut. 

It wasn’t cheating. He just needed someone to talk to.

He was lonely.

Nobody wanted to hire him.

He felt trapped.

Hanzo came home from work, he always looked tired. Genji joined him in the shower, begged to be fucked, felt triumphant at every thrust. It meant something, it meant he had won another battle, he was keeping Hanzo for another day. 

He watched Hanzo make dinner, talked incessantly about nothing, things that neither of them would recall later. Days ran together, a blur with distinct, treasured moments in between: Hanzo kissing his brow; sitting in the garden together, the morning sun, Hanzo planting new vegetables; Hanzo laughing at something Genji had just said, head tilted back; a sudden, unexpected hug from behind.

And then -

“Naoko invited us over for lunch on Sunday.”

Genji looked up from where he was pulling the toilet paper from the roll, slowly wrapping more than necessary around his hand. “Do we have to go?” He asked.

Hanzo glanced back at him via the bathroom mirror. “Yes.” He went back to rubbing moisturizer on his face, ignoring Genji’s sigh.

Genji shifted on the toilet seat and waited but Hanzo didn’t say anything else, just continued his nightly ritual to keep his skin baby soft. So Genji broke the silence with a long, suffering, “okay.” 

The conversation didn’t continue until they were in bed, with Hanzo in his customary ‘stare at the ceiling until it’s safe to roll over’ position. Genji was already drifting off when Hanzo’s voice interrupted him, whatever thoughts that had been stewing finally breaking free.

“On Sunday... we have to be careful.”

Of course Genji knew instantly what he meant but the fact that it even needed to be said hurt and so he played dumb, gave Hanzo an opening to recover, or keep burying himself. “Careful about what?” 

Hanzo grunted, sensing the trap. “About us, Genji.”

Genji rolled over to face his brother’s prone form, reaching out find Hanzo’s belly and slowly tickle his fingers lower. “So I can’t jerk you off under the table?”

Hanzo made an annoyed sound but didn’t make a move to stop Genji from feeling around. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t get it though. Unless we announce it with banners and I immediately bend over to take your dick, I don’t think their mind would ever jump to us being together.” He fingers curled around Hanzo as he said ‘dick’, punctuating the word with a squeeze. “What are the limits? Should I not talk to you? Or even smile? Or,” he started stroking, feeling Hanzo’s cock start to fill out in his grip, “how about I pretend not to know you at all? That’ll really flummox them.” 

Hanzo’s breathing was quickening now. “Just don’t... don’t do anything stupid.”

“You wound me brother,” Genji sighed. “But fine, I’ll be extra careful and not at all stupid. I won’t tell them about all the dirty, nasty things we do, like suck on your cock.”

Hanzo grunted something that sounded like a ‘thank you’ and then his hand came up to rest on Genji’s head, pushing him insistently downwards, and down Genji went, always eager to please.

\---

Hidetada Akane was introduced to him as a paragon of womanly virtue and by the time Aunt Naoko had finished tracing her lineage back to some famous general, Hanzo knew he had been set up. They’d barely gotten through the door, polite bows, shoes by the door, Genji’s gaze turning to him again and again with eyebrows upraised. 

It was going to be an exhausting lunch and Hanzo hoped he had the mental fortitude to make it through, especially with his brother here. His anxiety was an ever present coiled beast in his chest that kept shifting and testing his strength. It was just lunch, he reminded himself again and again. He would make small talk, let Naoko believe she’d set up the perfect match and then they would go home.

“Come inside, come inside,” Naoko ushered him forward, her fingers on his forearm, her other hand patting at him gently. “I’m making your favourite today, _nikujaga_.”

“Thank you. I can already smell how delicious it is.” He could feel himself settling into the flow of his family, the smiling, the softer tone, keeping them happy so that he could be left alone again once he had fulfilled his obligation. Except there was something different this time and it turned up on his other arm, as if about to tear him away from Naoko’s grasp.

“Didn’t you say you needed to use the bathroom?” Genji asked, a little too loudly, eyebrows still raised, clearly trying to convey urgency. “I need to go as well, you can show me the way.”

There was no point in denying him. “Very well. We will be right back.”

The house was massive, traditional, and very sparse. Even so, it was a family home and if you looked carefully you would notice the toys left behind by the grandchildren or a sketchy drawing of a sun and tree stuck onto a wall. There was always someone either living here, staying here or passing through. 

Having both lost their husbands, Naoko and Tamiko had moved in together three years previously. It was a running joke between the men who’d entered the family through marriage that the three sisters, Naoko, Tamiko and Sayuri, were like black widow spiders and had devoured their own husbands. They’d learnt to keep such attempts at humour to themselves while in Hanzo’s presence. 

Hanzo was just glad his father’s side of the family, the Shimada, were not all interested in meddling in his affairs and contacted him only for important events or to ask about business. The cousins he worked with didn’t care what he did as long as he continued to make everyone a lot of money. 

The bathroom door clicked shut behind them.

“She’s trying to set you up!” Genji immediately exclaimed, rounding on Hanzo as if it was his fault, as if he’d known Naoko would take her desire to find him a wife to the next level and he had simply failed to inform his brother.

“I noticed.”

He did actually need to use the toilet and he walked past Genji, their shoulders knocking, to get to it and take care of business. Genji paced near the bathtub, touching random objects as he moved around the room.

“Should we leave?” Genji asked. 

“Why?” 

“You shouldn’t have to-”

“It’s one lunch Genji. I think I can handle it.” 

Genji sat down heavily on the edge of the bath and after he’d washed his hands, Hanzo joined him. He was aware that they wouldn’t have much time before a long absence was noted but there was no way Genji was going to behave himself without some sort of gentle attention. 

Hanzo offered his hand.

Genji accepted it, squeezed down. 

“I don’t like it,” he said glumly, head hanging. 

Hanzo sighed. “I’m not signing a marriage contract, Genji.”

Genji leaned sideways, head on Hanzo’s shoulder. “She’s very pretty.”

She was. Pale skinned, dark hair tied back perfectly, her lips red and her brown eyes bright; the ideal wife by many outdated patriarchal standards. But pretty did not translate to desire or any interest on Hanzo’s behalf and he was insulted Genji was even dwelling on the issue. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

The words came out harsher than intended and he felt Genji stiffen.

“I’m just...” Genji failed to express whatever he was feeling and clenched Hanzo’s hand harder. “The family, and now her, it’s hard. I’m just worried.”  


The frustration settled in like as itch under his skin, the need to comfort his brother made almost impossible by the knowledge that they were in their aunt’s house, in her bathroom, surrounded by family despite the door between them. It was hard enough in his own home, let alone here. Then there was the added resentment that they were even having this conversation at all. Would he need to baby Genji through every family interaction?

Hanzo struggled with himself. His brother clearly needed his support and reassurance but no matter how hard Hanzo willed himself to bend, he couldn’t.

He took his hand away, had to flex his fingers and tug to break Genji’s grip, and said, “just don’t do or say anything foolish and we’ll be fine.” It wasn’t the right thing to say and part of him regretted it but there was no taking it back. 

Genji was staring at his now empty hand. “That isn’t... that isn’t the issue...”

Annoyance at himself was instantly turned onto Genji, partially fuelled by bitterness that his brother was finding this so difficult when Hanzo was the one expected to entertain a potential wife.

“Maybe not,” Hanzo snapped, “but my only concern is getting through this lunch without any incidents and you’re already being dramatic. So, I will say it again, be quiet and behave so we can get home sooner rather than later.”

Genji’s lips curled into a bitter smile.

“Whatever you say, Hanzo.”

\---

Hanzo knew he’d made a mistake but the true extent of it wasn’t made clear until halfway through lunch. Up until then he’d hesitantly begun to believe that Genji would save any retribution for Hanzo’s callousness for later and he slowly let down his guard, able to focus on his family and the guest as Genji sat quietly and picked at his food.

Akane was surprisingly good company, unfailingly polite but with enough to say that Hanzo wasn’t forced to keep talking into awkward silence. He’d always been good at this. As much as he hated it, as exhausted as it would leave him later, he’d always been able to present the image society demanded of him. 

It was only alone with Genji that he failed to mask his tone, or let words fall from his lips before he’d had a chance to filter them. How ironic that the person he cared for most in the world was the one he treated the worst. But knowing this fact was one thing; remedying it was another. 

Akane’s mother was also in attendance, seated close to Naoko and Tamiko, and all three of them looked very pleased with themselves. They chatted quietly, probably already planning the wedding, or deciding on baby names. The food arrayed on the table was an impressive feast and Hanzo knew his aunt must have paid a lot for the wagyu tataki. It melted in your mouth and Akane had already remarked upon it three times. Her favourite dish apparently. Naoko looked quietly triumphant. 

There were no extra cousins in attendance and the quiet affair, with everyone kneeling comfortably on cushions around the dinner table, soft music in the background and Tamiko’s song birds twittering outside the window, made for an almost pleasant afternoon. If you didn’t factor in Genji’s sullen silence and frequent angry glances.

It was easy enough to ignore and Hanzo planned on dealing with his brother much later.

A foolish presumption.

Hanzo was halfway through telling Akane about a not very interesting work anecdote that he’d been keeping in the back of his mind in a mental folder marked ‘small talk’ when Genji suddenly addressed Akane, effectively ending every other conversation at the table. 

“Akane-chan,” Genji drawled out the honorific and Naoko made a sound of startled disgust from her position at the end of the table. “You’re so pretty. It’s crazy you're still single.” As he spoke, Genji straightened from his depressed slump and instead leaned in towards Akane, smiling broadly.

His gaze flicked once towards Hanzo and Hanzo tensed visibly, expression going blank. He gave a curt, desperate sideways shake of his head that said ‘don’t do this’ but Genji only quirked an eyebrow that Hanzo read as ‘you deserve it’ and focused his attention away.

The rest of the table was frozen. Akane had a tight lipped uncertain smile, gaze darting across the table towards her mother and then back to Genji. 

“I think we all know why you’re here, Akane-chan.” Genji waved a lazy hand in Hanzo’s direction. “They’re basically selling you to him.”

“Genji!” Naoko snapped, the first one to thaw, outraged.

He ignored her.

Too polite to say a word, Akane didn’t react.

“But I promise you can do so much better. He’s really quite boring and sometimes he’s just downright mean. I’m his brother, trust me, I know.” Genji reached across the table with his chopsticks and took the last piece of the tataki, taking his time in swishing it through his soy and wasabi.

“Genji, stop,” Hanzo tried, “this is inappropriate.” The tone, his words, they reminded him instantly of their father and he knew Genji heard it as well.

His brother’s jaw clenched but his reply was flippant. “You’re inappropriate.”

It was only going to derail further. Hanzo could see the stubborn, errant glint in Genji’s eyes and if they didn’t exit the situation, it would simply get worse.

“Genji, you-”

Naoko began, eyes sparkling with anger.

“Aunt Naoko, Aunt, Tamiko, I apologise.” Hanzo cut her off before she could finish, pressed his hands against the table and stood in one smooth motion. “Genji and I are leaving now. Thank you for your hospitality. The food was lovely, as always.” He bowed towards Akane, low and apologetic. She bowed her head back to him and he thought he caught the start of a smile before she covered it with a hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He straightened and turned his attention to his brother and stressed his name, low and with meaning, “ _Genji_.” 

They locked gazes in a battle of wills, Genji still on his knees, a blush high on his cheeks and his stare defiant. There wasn’t a word from anyone else, they simply watched until Genji finally lost the fight. His head dipped, his gaze skittered to the side and he stood up without a word. Hanzo held back a sigh of relief.

There was no further goodbyes. Hanzo knew Naoko would call him with a lot to say and Hanzo was already running through the potential conversation in his mind, considering his replies and excuses, his reasoning for Genji’s behaviour.

Genji walked swiftly from the house and Hanzo followed. It took three tries to get the key into the car door, the shaking of his hand was making it difficult. Genji only watched him.

The drive home was like being in a pressure cooker. Every second of silence was more painful than the next but Hanzo wasn’t reach to breach it yet, not before he’d turned his torrent of emotion into something that wasn't a long drawn out scream. 

But even after he parked the car in their driveway and sat gripped by too many conflicting feelings, there was no arguing. 

It was Genji who spoke first, already reaching to open the door. “If all I am is a nuisance or an embarrassment to you, if you don’t want to consider my feelings, then this isn’t going to work. I’m not something you get to enjoy in private and put aside every other time.” And he was right and Hanzo didn’t have any response to that, so Genji left him there. The door slammed closed and he watched his brother walk up to the front door. 

_Will it always be like this?_

He could only wonder.

\---

Hanzo said sorry. 

He said it in his own awkward way and Genji forgave him. Genji said sorry too but he still refused to accept Naoko’s call when she asked to speak to him and he left Hanzo to deal with the fallout. They both knew that Genji had only lashed out because of his brother's actions and while they didn’t leave him free of guilt, he didn’t regret letting his emotions overwhelm his judgement. 

They went to dinner together, a nice restaurant overlooking the bay, city lights glinting on the water. Genji wished they could walk down by the shore holding hands like the other couples. He wished for a lot of things, most of them foolish. 

Again he wondered if he was happy and he was fairly certain the answer was no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaha, I hope you enjoyed this one! Unfortunately, the boys are still in rough waters! I've also made outlines for how I want the next few chapters and ultimately the finale to go, so I have a destination in mind now. Hope you'll stick with me until then!


	9. not enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! This is a short one but I'm setting it up for the end. There are only two chapters to go and I have a mission to get them done by the end of the week!

“Are you sure about this?” Genji asked as he studied the muscles of Hanzo’s broad back and shoulders, all of them tensed.

Hanzo’s reply was muffled by the pillow but was definitely a yes and so Genji shifted forward, leaning more of his weight on his arms where they bracketed Hanzo’s head. He angled his hips so that the tip of his cock pressed against Hanzo’s hole and Hanzo flinched, ever so slightly, but with Genji above him there was no disguising the reaction.

“I really don’t think you are sure,” Genji groaned. Hanzo was well prepped, an agonizingly slow process, with more patience than he’d thought either of them possessed. Yet now with Hanzo stretched out on his belly and Genji hard and ready, something was wrong. 

Genji was frustrated but not surprised. 

“Hanzo,” he begged quietly. He lowered his body, leaned his weight on one elbow and used his now free hand to rub at his brother’s tensed right shoulder. Hanzo relaxed slightly as he kneaded the muscle, thumb sinking into the pressure points. 

Hanzo had never liked taking it and the fact that he would make the request now had come as a surprise. He liked control too much to let someone fuck him. The rare times Genji had managed to convince him in their youth, he’d been drunk and amenable, then claimed angry disgust the day after. Another memory that gnawed constantly at Genji, another regret.

And yet this had been Hanzo’s idea and he had seemed to enjoy Genji opening him up with his fingers, moaning as Genji left encouraging kisses on his feverish skin.

“We can swap.” Genji’s voice was cajoling. He kissed messily at the back of Hanzo’s neck. “Come on. You know I like it.”

“Genji, please shut up and just do it.” This time the words were loud and clear, with Hanzo lifting his head to look over his shoulder. His brows were drawn together in a thunderous expression that had no impact on the concerned man staring back at him. 

“You just,” Genji spoke as he trailed his hand down Hanzo’s back, leaving goosebumps on his skin, “you seem very tense.” He hand reached his own cock and ran along the length before he lined himself up one more and nudged against Hanzo’s waiting entrance. Hanzo canted his hips back and Genji’s cock nudged just past the rim.

The sensation made his whole body quiver. 

But he hesitated.

The last two weeks had been good.

Despite the disaster lunch, Hanzo had been _trying_ and Genji had been desperate to put aside his misgivings. It was easy to forget in the moments when they were together, when he was happy and Hanzo was smiling at him. It was only later when he was alone that his thoughts were consumed by what their future could be, or if there even was one.

His favourite daydream was when they left this house, went away together somewhere nobody knew them and lived contently, allowed to love each other without shame or pressure. It was foolish but his heart ached for it. 

Genji was too afraid to ask what Hanzo wanted.

Hanzo’s ‘tsk’ of annoyance brought him back to the moment.

He pushed forward instinctively, into the slick, hot opening. Releasing a groan, he slowly fed Hanzo his cock, desperate to start fucking and his restraint close to breaking. He shifted to press his chest to Hanzo’s back, kissed his neck again. 

Still tense.

Genji paused, suspicious, and reached beneath Hanzo, hand pressing between bed and thigh to seek out the others cock. He wasn't surprised to feel Hanzo move to try block his attempt and found just what he’d expected. Hanzo was soft. He hadn’t been earlier but he was now. It was a tell Genji could not ignore.

Genji instantly rolled away, flopped back onto the bed beside his brother and glowered at the ceiling. Hanzo swore softly and turned over as well, his hand seeking Genji’s and linking them.

“Why are you doing this?” Genji asked.

“I thought this was something you would want.”

It almost made him laugh, might have if not for how hollow it also made him feel. He was speaking before his mind had even processed his response. “I want you to love me.” 

That silence that followed that statement was damning.

“... I do,” Hanzo eventually said, his voice strained.

Genji closed his eyes, hyper aware of every breath, every twitch of Hanzo’s fingers in his own. “You hesitated.” His accusation was a tired sigh. Hanzo didn’t respond, so Genji continued, let his feelings pour out. “I want to be more than the brother you fuck. I want to be your partner. I want you to trust me, confide in me. I want you to love me without shame.” 

He wasn't sure Hanzo would even reply. The silence was unbearably heavy, it made his skin itch. When he finally did, Hanzo’s voice was raw with regret and pain. “I’m not sure I can do that, Genji.” 

A sudden laugh escaped from Genji’s throat, a high-pitched sound full of bitterness that he had no control over. He dragged Hanzo’s hand up to his lips, kissed each knuckle with tender affection, felt Hanzo’s shoulders silently shake.

“You were right, Hanzo,” he said. “It isn’t enough.”

\--

Hanzo called him into his office the next day and said, “we need to talk about something.” He looked exhausted, dark bags under his eyes and hair a mess. Neither of them had slept much that night and Genji doubted his looks had fared any better. 

They’d tiptoed around each other that morning, their conversation over coffee awkward and uncomfortable. 

Genji scratched the back of his neck, hesitating before he took a seat at the desk across from Hanzo. “Yeah?” He asked, terror a lump in his throat. Would Hanzo tell him to leave? Call an end to this poor excuse for a relationship? Despite everything Genji didn’t want to let this go. 

Hanzo picked up one of the papers on the desk and turned it around for Genji to see. “I need you to sign this.”

“What is it?” Genji asked, leaning forward. He scanned the first few lines, frowned and looked at Hanzo. His brother was looking away, lips pressed tight. Guilt was written across his features. “This is...”

“This will ensure you receive your half of mother’s will in a timely manner.”

“She left me something?”

“Of course she left you something,” Hanzo said brusquely. “Please sign the paper, Genji.”

It had never even occurred to Genji that there would be a will, an inheritance. He’d been so wrapped up in the drama of her death and being reunited with Hanzo that the thought had not once popped into his mind.

“How much?”

“Six million yen.”

Genji blinked. “Oh.” He picked up the closest pen, tried to read the paperwork but couldn’t seem to focus on the words. “Why am I,” the thought occurred to him slowly, came out of his mouth just as stilted, “why are you... why are you only telling me about this now?”

It was the guilt he’d picked up on that fueled his question, the same guilt that now made Hanzo’s lips twitch down. But he answered, even if he refused to look Genji in the eyes. “I was afraid that once you had the money, you would leave me.” It wasn’t a fear that was unfounded. That was how Genji had escaped the first time. 

Genji swallowed hard. It felt as thought someone was squeezing his heart. “And are you no longer afraid I’ll leave or do you just not care anymore?”

Hanzo blanched, opened his mouth to speak a few times until he found the words he wanted to say. “I... know you’re not happy.” 

Genji nearly threw the pen at him in frustration. “What does that even mean, Hanzo?” 

Hanzo slumped in his chair and shook his head in apparent defeat. “I want you to be able to do what makes you happy. Please,” his voice cracked, “just sign the form.”

Genji thought about causing a fuss but he couldn’t find the energy to fight his brother, to try force anything more from him. He signed without further comment and left the room, closing the door a little too firmly behind him. 

\---

_I love you._

The words wanted to emerge; they remained in his throat long after Genji had left him alone in the quiet of his office and still they begged to be released. Hanzo finally whispered them, let them slide out uselessly, pointlessly. He wanted to get on his knees and beg his brother not to go, not to leave him. The fear at the thought of it happening, of being left alone, was crippling.

He loved him, of course he loved him. He wanted to be everything Genji needed.

But he couldn’t. 

The weeks had shown him that. They revealed the painful truth and Hanzo’s lacking. His past was ingrained too deeply in him, his shame and his own self-hatred made it impossible for him to let down his guard, to give his all. Which meant Genji would never be happy. Not really. 

Hanzo was too broken to make this work and if meant driving his brother slowly away to ensure he didn’t keep clinging to something that would never be whole, then so be it. He would fall on that sword willingly. 

His weak love was not enough.

But even just thinking about it was a knife to the heart, twisting bitterly whenever he imagined losing his brother and letting him go. It was a confusing mix, a constant tug of war between what he wanted and what he thought he should do. 

_I need more time._

But how long? A month, a year... ten? How long would his brother remain, unhappy, growing further apart even as he worked desperately to bring them closer? It wasn’t enough. There was nothing else to do but let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't catch it, Genji's 'it isn't enough' line is a direct reference to chapter 3. 
> 
>  
> 
> _“Of course I want you,” he allowed. Genji’s eyes brightened hopefully and Hanzo immediately sought to destroy it. “But that is not enough.”_
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter is 90% done. Ending shit is hard, yo.


	10. the is the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Two chapters in one day! Well, the last one was really short and I managed to finish this one and figured I'd get it out there! Enjoy your double dose of feels.
> 
> Your required listening for this chapter is [Say Something by A Great Big World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmErRm-vApI).

jesse: how are you doing? 

genji: hi  
fine, i guess  
how are u?

jesse: you guess??

genji: things are a bit weird atm

jesse: you should come home :)

genji: i’m not sure where home is

jesse: now i’m starting to worry  
if you’re not happy  
you don’t have to stay there

genji: i know

\---

Time marched on and each day was heavier than the last. They navigated around each other, sometimes tentative, sometimes warm and familiar. Soft, casual gestures, laughter, banter; until one of them remembered and the warmth turned to cold and they drifted away again.

Genji was hyper aware that what he had been trying so hard to cultivate was withering slowly. He wanted to stop it but wasn’t sure how. There was no easy word, or a phrase that would repair what was broken between them. It wasn’t that simple.

Maybe they just didn't belong together. Despite Genji’s romantic notions of being meant for each other, maybe the truth was the exact opposite. They were unfit for each other. Brother’s defiling the honour of their family with every kiss, every touch, every longing glance. 

Genji refused to let that thought linger for very long. To entertain it as a truth would break his resolve entirely. 

This was so hard already, too hard. 

And part of him was ready to run. 

He was good at that. Leaving his problems behind was a true and tried method. 

_Stay._

He had promised. 

There was a horrible truth that he wanted to deny, a certainty that he refused to voice. Genji would break his promise. Not soon. Not while he was still trying to deny his own nature, but one day. 

Hanzo wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t change, and so Genji would leave. They would lament what could have been for the rest of their lives but nothing could change their fate. 

One moment after the other, memories piling up, and the end loomed.

\---

“I have a business dinner tonight,” Hanzo told him over the phone. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Sure.” Genji let himself fall sideways across the couch, curled his legs up to his chest, mobile cradled against his ear. “I’ll miss you.”

“Genji...”

The TV was on, Genji stared at it, watched as four pretty idols competed in some crazy game. “What should I have for dinner?”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

“Alright.” One of the idols had just scored points and the crowd was cheering as the orange-haired pretty-faced twenty-something jumped up and down. “You can wake me up. If I’m asleep, you should wake me up.”

Hanzo sighed heavily. “I will.”

\---

jesse: still feeling down babydoll?

genji: a little

jesse: what are you doing???

genji: watching a movie  
genji: why are you up? isn’t it like 5:30 in the morning?

jesse: farm hours  
early shift  
gotta feed all the fucking cows

genji: you’re seriously doing the farm thing?

jesse: our apartment was lonely without you  
i’ve decided to become one with nature  
and the cows

genji: don’t fuck the cows jesse

genji changed jesse’s name to cowfucker

cowfucker: i’d prefer to be milking u

cowfucker changed genji’s name to THE COW

THE COW: i bet

cowfucker: no i’m serious  
i miss u  
and your fine ass  
but mostly u

THE COW: shut up and get to work jesse :)

cowfucker: yes boss <3

\---

The bed creaked with their movements. 

Genji felt like he was turning to liquid fire. Each creak was a slow, measured thrust, building up to his combustion. Hanzo was engulfing him, wrapped up over him, pressing into him. His brother’s breath and ragged sobs hot against his ear, sour with alcohol when Genji tried to turn his face to kiss him through his orgasm. 

Hanzo collapsed between his thighs, a blanket of muscle, a weight both welcome and smothering at the same time. Genji’s legs loosened slowly from where he had locked his ankles together, knees falling open, easing some of the cramps. There was a dull, familiar ache at the base of his spine and he paid it no heed, eyelids drooping.

“You started this.”

Genji blinked groggily upwards, his mind slowly unscrambling the low, accusatory words. Hanzo moved his head into Genji’s neck, mouthing at the skin with soft little suckles before he spoke again, “this is your fault.”

Genji didn’t reply.

He knew what Hanzo was referring to.

He _did_ start this and it _was_ his fault.

Hanzo never would have walked over that invisible line on his own. It had been Genji, full of false bravado, confident in his body and his ability to attract others, that had made the choice for them. 

“Didn’t it ever disgust you?” Hanzo asked him a little later, tongue loosened by one too many drinks. They hadn’t bothered to clean up yet, just curled sideways together, Hanzo’s warm hand petting idly at Genji’s belly. “Desiring your brother.”

Genji shivered. 

“No,” he answered because it was true and there was nothing else he could say. 

Back when they were young, he hadn’t thought about the repercussions, he’d only known that he had _wanted_. It had never seemed wrong. 

He had grown up both idealizing his brother and despising him for being the better son. There had never been any question which one was the more accomplished, the one with the brightest future, the favourite. Their father was often stern and expected much from his offspring but he’d been far more lenient towards Genji, turning a blind eye to many of his exploits, giving him money for something new and shiny without comment, ignoring his youngest sons late hours and failing grades.

It was that disregard and the pride he saw in Sojiro’s eyes when he looked at Hanzo that made him feel lesser. 

There was never any question that he was loved but Genji would sometimes walk into a room where the three of them were spending time and feel as though he was an intruder. They would all look up from their respective tasks and their combined gazes would agitate him to the point of lashing out pointlessly. Stop making a scene, his father would sigh. His mother would shake her head and smile, take his hand and pull him from the room, hold him close as if she knew what he needed, knew that he was aware how utterly they adored their oldest son and was sorry for it.

Hanzo had expectations and pressure but Genji was like a loose thread, allowed the dangle needlessly. 

Genji could remember the first time he had made the connection between his desires and Hanzo. Sixteen years old on a family holiday by the beach, a bucket of water in his arms as he crept across the hot sand towards his brother’s prone form. There had been a pause, a momentary ‘oh’ as instead of tipping the water, he had paused to stare, to trace his gaze across Hanzo’s belly and chest, developing muscles, filling out beautifully. 

Moments later he had dumped the seawater over his brother, not just then but many more times afterwards, just to feel Hanzo wrestle him into the sand. 

It had taken another three years of planning, of careful maneuvering, to get Hanzo where he wanted him; and even then it had been a struggle. The doubt and fear in Hanzo’s eyes even as Genji swallowed his cock down, trembling fingers urging him deeper, _more please more oh Genji_. 

“I’m sorry,” Genji murmured softly but Hanzo had fallen asleep, his hand limp against Genji’s skin and his breath steady.

\---

Genji answered the house phone the next morning, automatically picking up the receiver before it could keep ringing and wake Hanzo too early. He cradled it between his shoulder and ear as he moved around the kitchen preparing his coffee and wasn’t expecting his greeting to responded to by an equally surprised Naoko.

“Genji-kun...”

He flinched, the phone slipping slightly, forcing him to turn his head awkwardly and use his chin to hold it in place. “Aunt Naoko,” he murmured into the silence, buying a few seconds with her name while trying to decide if he should just hang up or not. 

“Is Hanzo-kun there?” 

He abandoned the coffee cup and grabbed the phone properly in his hand. “He’s still sleeping.” It felt good to deny her, as petty as that was.

Naoko made a drawn out displeased ‘hm’ sound and Genji grit his teeth. “Don’t disturb him.” As if he would have. “Ask him to call me when he wakes up.” There was another noise, this one almost a laugh, and Genji’s back stiffened defensively. “I want to ask how his dinner with Akane went.”

Genji barely registered how smug she sounded, the shock had made his heart freeze in his chest. 

“He went to a business dinner last night,” Genji shot back weakly, knowing there was no hope of that being the truth, and Naoko huffed in amusement. 

“Is that what he told you?” He could imagine her shaking her head, lips curled up small smirk. “Well, please get him to call me.”

The line went dead as she hung up.

Genji put the phone down before his trembling fingers could drop it and knew this was another nail in the coffin.

\---

By the time Hanzo woke up and made it downstairs, there was already a headache pounding in his temples and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with bitter cotton. He shuffled into the bright kitchen and saw Genji first, at the table, one leg tucked beneath him on the seat. His brother looked back at him, staring at him steadily, expectantly.

There had been a few too many drinks last night but not enough for him to forget anything that he’d said. _This is your fault._ He almost winced from the recollection. It hadn’t been what he’d meant to say. When he’d come home, stumbling into the dark room and shedding his clothes, all he’d wanted, so desperately, was to embrace Genji. 

His brother had rolled to meet him, warm and welcoming, always eager. 

He’d fucked him frantically, chasing away his sins with the fire they created between them but even then there was no escape, just the reminder that he couldn’t have this forever. That sooner or later he was going to lose Genji. It made him weak, made him mean. It wasn’t Genji’s fault, nothing was, at least not entirely. Hanzo had given in readily. 

Hanzo sat down opposite his brother, pulled air into his lungs to apologise - and never got the chance.

“How was dinner last night?” Genji asked him suddenly and there was such a knowing, deliberateness to his tone that Hanzo understood instantly. His brother was aware of the truth. The pounding in his head multiplied and his nausea rolled through his gut.

He wondered what his brother would do if he decided to pretend otherwise, kept spinning a lie that they were both aware of. The thought was short lived. There was no point in doing any more damage.

“It was fine.” He leant his head on one hand and rubbed at his eyes with other. “Akane-chan is good company.”

It hurt him to see the way Genji flinched, the stuttered little breath, the rapid blinking as Hanzo freely and casually admitted to his wrong doing. Hanzo was fairly sure this must be what it felt like to be gutted slowly, a knife to the belly, innards unravelling with each foolish word.

“It isn’t what you’re thinking,” Hanzo grunted. Defending himself was counterintuitive, would draw out the process longer than necessary, but he couldn’t bear to see that look of betrayal in Genji’s eyes. “She contacted me and I agreed to meet her for dinner. That was all it was. “

Genji’s eyebrows drew down. “And yet you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.” 

Genji back straightened and he leaned back in disbelief. He gave the slightest shake of his head, lips quirking up. “So lying to me is better? You’d rather lie, cheat on me and then come home and fuck me?”

“Cheat on you?” Hanzo spat the words out as if they were cursed. “I didn’t cheat on you. I went to dinner, I-”

“With _Akane_... and you didn’t tell me about it. That’s cheating!” 

He imagined his guts being tugged, feeding out through the opening in his belly, pooling on the kitchen floor. His whole body ached, his head pounding, little black dots danced in front of his eyes. “If we want to talk about cheating, shall we discuss your little chats with Jesse?”

Genji swallowed hard, little spots of colour on his cheeks. “That’s different,” he croaked. “He’s my friend. I need someone to talk to that isn’t you.”

“Maybe so do I,” he bit back.

It had been surprisingly nice. The restaurant staff had been attentive without being cloying and Akane away from family pressure was bright and bubbly, laughing with him about that fateful lunch. The conversation had been easy and for a moment he’d entertained the notion of really marrying her, of having a companion when Genji was gone, a wife and some children. It was true that he would never desire her but he wouldn’t be the first gay man to settle down and live a lie. There were certainly worse woman to live that life with.

Hanzo had known what he was doing. He had deliberately kept Genji in the dark just to keep that option available. He hadn't expected his actions to be uncovered so soon, had expected to have time to bury it. In a sense he had cheated, even if by the end of the night, all he’d wanted was to crawl into bed with his brother and never let him go. He was guilty.

“How do you know?” Genji asked him. “About my conversations with Jesse.”

“How did you know about dinner?” Hanzo countered, delaying the inevitable. 

“Aunt Naoko called. How did you know about Jesse?”

“You got a new message last night, I saw it when I got home.”

“And you read it?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“It’s isn’t that. 

“Then what is it?” Genji held his hands out, palms up, open and waiting. 

It fell out of him, a final desperate plea he couldn’t hold back. “I’m losing you, Genji.”

His brother said nothing, he merely shook his head, slow and sad. A heavy sigh deflated him and Hanzo hated to see how exhausted he looked. Then Genji stood up, stretched the leg out that had been curled up beneath him to encourage blood flow. “You look like shit, Hanzo. Go back to bed.”

\---

The sun made Genji’s face glow. At peace, expression serene, his body stretched out across the floorboards, soaking in the warm light. Hanzo settled beside him with a quiet rustle of clothing, down to his knees, making sure not to cast a shadow on his brother. Only the slightest wrinkle of Genji’s brow betrayed his knowledge of Hanzo’s presence but he otherwise did not react.

Hanzo took the chance, basked in the quiet contentment in the same way Genji was basking in the sunlight. He admired the strong jaw, the fan of his dark eyelashes, the soft lips. A beautiful face so capable of emotion. He looked so content here. Perfect. This was how it should always be.

_I love you._

He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss against Genji’s brow. His brother moved his arm and Hanzo sunk down, curled up at his side, head on his shoulder. They breathed together, peacefully in the sunlight, forgot everything but the now.

\---

The car door slammed shut and the front light came on, greeting Hanzo home. Genji watched him from the upstairs window, had been watching since the car had arrived in the dark and Hanzo had remained sitting in the front seat for ten minutes, head on the steering wheel. 

As Hanzo finally marched up to the front door, shoulders slumped, leaving Genji’s view, he turned away from the window and went to meet him.

They kissed in the hall.

Later they argued over dinner. Genji couldn’t remember what it was about by morning. It didn’t matter, Hanzo was curled around him. They could stay like this, Genji reasoned. It wasn’t unbearable. Neither of them were entirely happy but there were blissful moments as well.

They had each other.

That should settle the matter. 

Except it didn’t.

\---

Genji looked up flights to America on his phone.

The inheritance money had come through. He now had enough to live happily for quite a few years, provided he managed it all properly and didn’t spend money on frivolous things. That would get him back to America, a nice place to life, he could save Jesse from that ridiculous farm. Even if that video of the cow’s happily munching on feed, their big noses pushing at Jesse’s hand, had been ridiculously cute. 

If he left, he knew he would not only miss his brother, it would tear him apart.

But he couldn’t live like this.

_You started this._

And now Genji would be the one to finish it.

\---

Sayuri had left him a letter as well as well as the inheritance. Hanzo had kept it safe, professed to have ‘forgotten’ about it until now. Her writing was cramped and almost ineligible in places and Genji hated that he had to keep asking Hanzo to read certain parts.

The letter left him hollow. His mother wanted him to be happy, wanted him to look after his brother, wanted him to be part of the family. I’m sorry, the letter read over and over. I’m so sorry for leaving you, for not seeing you, for not trying hard enough. I loved you so much, Genji. 

Hanzo let him be, until day turned to night and Genji was sitting in the dark. He joined him then, rubbed gently at his calf, a gentle touch meant to reassure. Genji moved his leg away. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Genji told him.

“I know,” Hanzo replied.

\---

The seasons changed slowly, went from sticky summer heat to mild fall and the days rolled by. Genji stared at the calendar on the kitchen wall, counted the days since he had arrived. Four months, approximately. That was how long they’d lasted. Only four months. It felt like a lifetime and yet no time at all.

Rain poured down in sheets outside, casting a dreary pall over the house. Hanzo entered the kitchen, passed by Genji, his hand reaching out and allowing a single, familiar touch of greeting to his arm before he continued on to the fridge.

“You would like America,” Genji said as he turned to watch him, his arm still tingling, feeling the remnant of his brother’s touch. 

Hanzo was shirtless, sweat glistening on his back after using the treadmill he’d recently bought and placed in one of the spare rooms. He was silent as he took a bottle of water out of the fridge. Genji watched him, heart in his throat. Hanzo closed the door, uncapped the bottle. “I’m sure I would like a lot of places.”

“The people are a funny and very loud,” Genji continued, not sure why he was bothering, why he was saying anything. “You speak really good English. You would fit right in.” 

Hanzo took a sip of water. “I very much doubt that.”

Even now Genji marvelled at how physical emotions could be; how your chest would ache and feel so very, very tight. That sinking, terrible feeling in your gut. “There is more to you than,” for a moment words failed him and instead he indicated with a hand, a wide, sweeping gesture, “this.”

“This,” Hanzo repeated and began a slow, measured approach towards his brother.

“Everything,” Genji whispered harshly, wanting to back away but there was only the wall and then Hanzo was there, his lips wet and eyes sad. 

“This is all that I am and all that I know, this is everything I am capable of. You though,” the fondness that Hanzo looked at him with, the silent longing, made tears well in Genji’s eyes, “are capable of being so much more. I am so proud of you.” 

Then Genji did cry and Hanzo embraced him. They clung desperately to each other, holding on to the moment as best they could, shared a breath for one last time. If they could just become one person, Genji thought, if they could just find a way. If Hanzo wasn’t so afraid to change, if Genji wasn’t so ready to run. If they could learn to love without fear.

If only.

\---

Genji bought a first class ticket back to America.

Two days later Hanzo dropped him off at the airport. They stood together amid the mad hustle and bustle, masses of people heading all over the world. People off on adventures, returning home, travelling for business. So many lives, each with their own stories. How many of them were just as sad, just as hopeless? Or were they happy, living fulfilled lives? How long would that happiness last?

Genji clutched his bag tighter, it was heavier than when he had arrived but not by much. There was a lot he was leaving behind, again. 

He turned to his brother, realised he had been the subject of scrutiny for some time. Hanzo’s brows were drawn, the wrinkles around his eyes seemed deeper and he was staring at Genji as if attempting to memorize every inch. 

“I,” he started to say and then simply shook his head. They’d already said everything that needed to be said, some of it important, a lot of it excuses. Genji liked to imagine he was the one that had been burnt the worst but he was just as guilty, just as unwilling to change, just as weak and cowardly. 

They couldn’t break from their old sorrows and so they would part; go their separate ways, somewhere they could busy themselves pretending they weren’t far more miserable apart. He was scared, so scared, one way or the other, everything would hurt for a very long time.

Genji licked his dry lips and slowly held out his hand to shake, felt like a fool doing it.

Hanzo dropped his gaze down to his offered hand and then up again, aghast. He looked pale, ready to curl in on himself but he straightened his shoulders instead and gripped Genji’s hand.

He pulled him in, embraced him. 

The hug was bruising in its intensity. Genji could feel his bones and muscles shifting, relished the pain of being wanted so badly. He dug his nails into Hanzo’s shoulder and clung to him. Neither of them cried. No tears, just a quiet acceptance of the end.

“I’ll stay in touch,” Genji promised with an easy lie.

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo sighed, and behind those two simple words was a mountain of regret.

Hanzo turned his head and to Genji’s surprise, kissed him, a lover’s kiss. He melted into it, astonishment a secondary emotion to the simple need to never let go. 

But time did not stop for them and they parted slowly, unwillingly.

_You’re making a mistake._

The thought didn’t stop him from walking away, even if it plagued him throughout the flight and a long time after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only the epilogue left kids.


	11. epilogue

Early morning found Genji puttering around the brightly lit kitchen of the share house, still in his pajamas. His bunny slippers were on, their fuzzy ears drooping with wear and tear as he prepared to start the day. It was in calm moments like these that he could look around fondly: the line of freshly watered plants on the windowsill, the notes on the fridge a mixture of Fareeha’s large capitals and Angela’s unreadable scrawl, the table with too many coffee stains. 

By routine he checked his phone but there was nothing important to attend to. The group chat was buzzing, as usual. Fareeha and Jesse, being early risers and already at work by dawn, were always spamming the chat with nonsense and Genji usually left that until later. Otherwise he’d get caught up in another stupid GIF war.

Genji glanced at the time.

It would be 11PM back in Hanamura. 

The conversion came easily. He’d had a year of practise, of wondering what Hanzo was doing, if he was happy. A year of heartache, a year of feeling as though he’d taken a knife to his own chest and carved out part of his heart. They had messaged each other (‘how are you?’ ‘how is America?’ ‘are you well?’) but the last one had been months ago.

Moving on wasn’t any easy task. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was even possible. 

Even when he was having fun, out with friends and filling his life with distractions, it would suddenly hit him. Thoughts of his brother would slam to the front of his mind and punch all the air from his lungs. He wanted to say that he was happier. It seemed like it but he had a hunch that it was only an illusion. He was fooling himself. The freedom, the people to talk to, the places he could go to forget. The horrible truth was that he was missing something, something integral, almost as important as air and because of that he would never be whole.

The doorbell rang.

It was probably that book he’d ordered online finally arriving.

He shuffled his way down the hallway, flicked the lock and opened the front door wide.

Hanzo stood on the doorstep.

His suit was crumpled and creased, knuckles white where they gripped the handle of his suitcase. His eyes were red around the edges, bottom lip bitten and sore. There was a quiet, intense expression of hope on his face. 

Genji stared blankly, made a wordless sound of astonishment in the back of his throat. He was suddenly hot and cold all over. Impossible. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Please don’t be dreaming. The aching wound he had been bandaging throughout the year burst open wide, unleashed everything he had been trying to contain. He felt sick with yearning, his chest constricting, blinking back the sudden burn of tears. 

Wordlessly Hanzo peeled his tight grip away from the suitcase and opened his arms wide.

It broke the spell.

Genji stumbled to get to him, fell into his grip, unable to stand another second without touching him, feeling him there, real and strong and physical. He keened out Hanzo’s name, buried his cries into his brother’s shoulder. Those big warm around wrapped him close, reassuring. 

“I’m here now,” Hanzo promised. 

Their past was a minefield and their future would be just as difficult. But they would make it work together. There was time to rebuild, to forgive, to be different. 

This one moment told him everything he needed to know.

This was where he belonged. This was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it folks! Did you really think that after tearing your hearts out I would go ahead and stomp on them? To be fair, I did consider it but this felt _right_. Hopefully you'll feel the same way.
> 
> This is the first multi-chapter fic I've ever completed and I want to thank you all for being there with me, for reading this as it happened or if you're picking this up months after it's done, I want to thank you for your support and all your beautiful reviews and messages. It all means a lot to me. This story started out of nowhere and I never expected to come as far and to make something so emotional. I hope you're happy with how it turned out. They still have work to do but there's hope now. 
> 
> Thank you for reaching the end. I'm eternally grateful.
> 
> If you want to contact me on tumblr, ask questions or yell or whatever, feel free. :)
> 
> And an extra shout-out to kingrepulsive for reading the epilogue, picking out mistakes and sending me forth to post this with NO FEAR. Internet smooches for you!


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